


This Conversation

by RedTwice



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pre-Canon, Character Development, Christophe Lives in Detroit, Emotional Support, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Languages, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Panic Attacks, Self Confidence Issues, Self-Expression Through Ice Skating, Slow Burn, Training, Viktuuri Endgame
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-27
Updated: 2018-01-18
Packaged: 2018-10-11 14:39:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 58,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10467372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedTwice/pseuds/RedTwice
Summary: Eighteen and fresh out of Juniors, Katsuki Yuuri finds himself travelling to Detroit to train with the world-renowned ice skating coach Celestino Cialdini. Meanwhile, Josef Karpisek retires earlier than anyone expected, leading Christophe Giacometti to Celestino’s door as a full-time student. And then the story begins.Or:Christophe joins Yuuri in Detroit from the beginning, and leads Yuuri down a six-year-long path of self-discovery.





	1. Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first fanfiction in several years, so thank you for taking the time to try it out! 
> 
> I have a very important disclaimer to make first: I have never lived in, nor visited Detroit. 
> 
> I am aware that in-universe Celestino, and by extension Yuuri and Phichit, work out of the Detroit Skating Club. I seriously considered keeping this setting, but since this club doesn’t work with what I have in mind (Google Maps is a gift to humanity), I’ve decided to invent a fictional skating rink “Eastgate Ice Arena” (named after the real “Southgate Ice Arena” also found via Google Maps). I've also changed this setting because I just didn’t feel comfortable working so closely with a real place that I have never seen. Hopefully I've managed to make this seem believable in-story. 
> 
> I have a rough yearly plan set out for this story, from 2010 to 2017, and will be juggling story lines including University, Yuuri's social life, the local skating community, and the actual Senior circuits. 
> 
> Viktor won't be coming into the picture (in a major way) for some time, but will be here for the majority of the work after his introduction. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

 

[Saturday]

[May 1, 2010]

[01:07 AM]

 

Yuuri blinked sleepily as he leant against the cool glass of the car window. With his glasses off, the outside world was a faded smear of shifting black, intermitted with flashes of red and yellow as they passed traffic lights and closed store fronts.

It had just gone one in the morning, and Yuuri was on the verge of nodding off as his new coach drove them through the nearly-empty streets of Detroit in a beige company-owned SUV. It would have been three in the afternoon back in Japan, but the thirteen hour flight plus layovers had exhausted him in his inability to sleep through the noise and turbulence. To round the experience off, he had been caught up at baggage claims for the better part of an hour, as the final suitcase bearing his skates and related gear was one of the last to emerge through the carousel.

 _At least there weren’t any screaming babies_ , Yuuri consoled himself as he rolled his forehead against the window, to relieve a little of the tension from the flight. _At least the woman sitting next to me didn’t want to talk. At least they didn’t straight up_ lose _my bag. At least, at least, at least …_

Yuuri hated flying.

“We should be there in about fifteen minutes,” Celestino’s lightly Italian-accented voice broke through Yuuri’s thoughts, startling him enough that his forehead jerked against the glass. Yuuri turned to the man, who was driving them with comfortable ease. “Are you hungry? Thirsty?”

“No,” Yuuri said softly. Airplane food always left him a little queasy – the thought of eating right then made his stomach turn. “Just tired.”

Celestino hummed in acceptance, and the brief conversation lulled back into silence. Yuuri turned his attention to the outside streets as they passed by. Dotted throughout the blocky two-level homes was the occasional curiosity. There was a car dealer, bordered by drive-through food outlets. There was a local bar, with a few patrons still lingering. There, an abandoned gas station. There, an empty playground. There, a playing field.

 _It’s so different_ , Yuuri thought wistfully. Everything here was hard concrete and raw lights and broad flat spaces uncomfortably open to the sky. There were no sharp hills, or gentle streams, or signs in familiar kanji. The buildings here were further apart, the roads wider and straighter, and everything just seemed … _bigger_. Where his hometown of Haesetsu had been a tight knot of old traditional stairways and narrow one-lane roads, bordered by a mix of new-glass with old-wood buildings, Detroit was a sprawl of stone and grass spotted with thin, looming trees, and it seemed like it went forever. It made Yuuri feel uneasy, for reasons he couldn’t quite pin down-

“We have three other skaters with us already.” Celestino seemed determined to make a conversation. Yuuri suppressed a sigh – he really was quite tired – and turned to the older man. “Have I told you about them?”

“A little.”

“The youngest, Theresa, is a talented local girl – she lives with her mother about fifteen minutes from the rink, so she doesn’t board with the other skaters. I’ve been coaching her officially for almost six months now, and-”

Yuuri sank into his chair, propped his chin on a hand braced against the door’s hand rest, and let the conversation wash over him. He was tired. He was in a new place, surrounded by unfamiliar sights. His stomach was re-enacting his last skating routine with increasing fervour. And he was too damned polite to do anything other than let the loud, entirely too-awake man beside him talk their way to his new place of residence.

“-and then there’s the group sessions. Twice a week I offer classes to the general public – there’s a kiddy class, for the little ones, and a senior class for couples and the like. Maybe you would like to help out one day, hmm? Even just hanging around the rink and doing a few spins can really inspire the students, it gives them something to look up to, and-”

 _Let me sleep_ , Yuuri pleaded silently. _Let me sleep, let me sleep, let me sleep-_

“-but I am most curious to see how you will get along with Christophe – I have told you that you will be rooming with him, yes?”

Yuuri blinked, and turned his attention to the conversation so quickly he almost felt his head swim in shock.

“Ah…” was all that could escape this mouth – but apparently, Celestino took this for an affirmative.

“He is a wonderful young man – I think you will get along very well!” Celestino gave a short, deep laugh before continuing in the same enthusiastic vein, but Yuuri wasn’t listening any more.

 _Rooming? Sharing a room? With another person? No one told me this! What am I going to do – does he have a spare room, a closet, anything? I haven’t had to share a room since – no, I’ve never had to share a room!_ Not to mention that ‘Christophe’ sounded extremely familiar. He was certain he had heard the name at one of his recent competitions. Maybe he was a Junior?

“And here we are!” Celestino announced. Yuuri raised his head to see that they had pulled into a narrow side road of cracked concrete. His eyes were drawn immediately to his right, to the broad and empty carpark, and to the massive, dark building that dominated the space behind it. He could make out an unlit neon sign mounted in the centre, and two pillars framing an entrance patio that channelled towards a pair of dark glass doors. _Is that …?_

Celestino turned left, and Yuuri’s neck twisted as his eyes followed those glass doors for as long as he was able.

“This is my home,” Celestino informed Yuuri, whose attention was brought back around to the narrow two-story building of dark wood and white windows that was before him. The car had pulled up on a short driveway that led to a closed garage door, a steep set of stairs, and a shallow veranda about the front edge of the house. “This, I share with my wife and daughter – you are welcome to find me here any time, if you have concerns.” The car shuddered into silence, and Yuuri clutched his backpack as he drew it up from where it had been sitting between his feet.

“But over here is the home you shall share with Christophe and Esteban,” Celestino continued as they climbed out of the car. Celestino locked the car with the remote keys, lights flashing across the dark night, and Yuuri took in the matching home that was beside Celestino’s, second in a line of five.

“The rent and utilities are included in my coaching fees, for students of mine that do not wish to board themselves – as you already know. It will be my skaters’ job to find groceries and such, but I’m sure Esteban will arrange this with you in time.” A light on the second level was on, and the window was pushed open. All that could be heard was the occasional hush of traffic on the road behind them.

“Christophe should be home – and although he should be asleep, I think he is waiting for you,” Celestino laughed as he gestured to the open window, not a hint of rebuke in his voice or eyes. He moved about the car, and began pulling Yuuri’s hard-cover suitcases from the back of the SUV, which Yuuri stacked on the sidewalk between Celestino’s car and his new shared home.

“Esteban has travelled to visit his parents for a post-season holiday, and will not be returning for another week. His room is smaller, so Christophe has agreed that you shall share a room with him. This is better, I think – Christophe is much more _outgoing_ than Esteban, Esteban can be a little … private. A good skater, yes – but a very quiet boy, sometimes.” Celestino hummed to himself, before shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts away. All the suitcases were out, and he pushed the back hatch closed. The sound cut through Yuuri, startling him in his exhausted state.

“Now! It is well passed time for sleep, Yuuri – we will have an early start, so that I can see your skill and begin work as your coach! Here, these are your house keys-” Celestino pressed a small keyring with two keys into Yuuri’s hands, “-your and Christophe’s room will be on the top floor, on the front-facing side. Christophe will show you. I will see you in the morning Yuuri – standing right here with all the gear you need at ten, and not a minute later! I will be very displeased if you are late! _Ciao ciao,_ Yuuri! Sleep well!”

Celestino left suddenly, like a whirlwind that had blown itself out. He left Yuuri blinking and a little stunned in his absence, standing surrounded by suitcases on the pitted sidewalk. Yuuri watched as Celestino climbed the stairs to his own home, and pulled the door closed behind him with a sense of finality.

Then, he eyed his own door in trepidation.

 _Take a breath_ , he thought to himself. _You can do this_.

He picked up two of his suitcases, his backpack already slung across both shoulders and clipped across his chest, and climbed the stairs to unlock the door with shaky hands.

The door opened soundlessly. A truck passed on the main street behind him, startling him with the low thrum of its engine. Yuuri stepped inside.

He was standing in a kitchen that spanned the width of the house. The only source of light was the range hood above the stove, sending the room into a pale orange glow. The fully-sized fridge was humming, almost distracting Yuuri from the soft footsteps above him. Yuuri walked through the room into a corridor beyond, and found himself faced with a choice between an open archway into a dark lounge on his left, a door left just ajar to a pale bathroom on his right, or an alcove of wooden stairs before him that turned about a mid-point landing as they rose to the upper level.  Light was echoing down the stairwell, and Yuuri could hear someone humming to an unknown tune.

He swallowed. Painfully.

“H-Hello?” he called hesitantly. He suddenly became aware of his own accent, muted by practice and time, but not shaken entirely. “Is this … Christophe?”

The footsteps above his head quickened and hardened, and Yuuri couldn’t stop himself from flinching as they tore down the steps to reveal-

Christophe.

“Here he is!” the man purred, his voice heavy with his own native accent. “My new, elusive roommate. Welcome! My name is Christophe – and you are Yuuri, are you not?”

Christophe’s floppy hair was bleached blonde, setting off his naturally brown eyebrows and moss green eyes. He had the most ridiculously long eyelashes Yuuri had ever seen on a man, and he was wearing nothing but a pair of loose gym shorts that covered barely half his thighs.

 “Hi,” Yuuri said weakly. “It’s … it’s nice to meet you?”

 “Ah, you are a shy one, aren’t you _topolino_?” Christophe smiled charmingly, and Yuuri couldn’t say whether he was shivering or shuddering in response. “Never mind – we will cure you of that soon enough. Do you have many bags? Are they still outside? Let me help you!”

With this Christophe bounced past Yuuri, through the kitchen, and down the steps to where the rest of his suitcases were still scattered. The cold of the night snuck in alongside him as he returned moments later with a suitcase in either hand, and a third tucked under one arm. He beamed at Yuuri as he passed, his energy seemingly endless. Yuuri felt as if he were lost. If Celestino was a whirlwind, then Christophe was a tsunami; while Celestino pulled you about and left you standing alone in a pile of debris, unsure of what had just happened, Christophe just swept in and pushed at you relentlessly, until you were a hundred metres inland with no idea how you got there.

“This way, Yuuri,” Christophe said in a voice that was half-chirp, half-rumble. Yuuri stumbled after him, managing the staircase with a little difficulty to find himself in a small carpeted hallway that held three doors; two down a short corridor to the left, and one to his right. “This is our home gym, with simple weights and such things. It has mirrors too, and a little space for practicing simple routines, if you wish,” Christophe nodded to the closest door on the right as he tossed a smile and wink over his shoulder, which Yuuri received with a confused blush. Christophe then turned to the door furthest to the left, which would lead to a room that faced away from the front of the home. “That room is Esteban’s – you maybe ... should not go in there unless you very much need to-” it was the closest the man had come to frowning that Yuuri had seen yet, “- but, no matter. This here is the largest room, which will be shared by the two of us!”

Christophe nudged the door on their right open with his foot, and edged the suitcases in with a little care. “Here – these are the drawers you can use for your clothes and things, and here is your bed! I have already set out the blankets, am I not the most thoughtful roommate, _Yuuri_?”

 _Why does he keep saying my name like that_ , Yuuri thought weakly. _Why_.

He took a breath, and savoured Christophe’s moment of silence as he allowed Yuuri to finally take in the room.

It was surprisingly nice, and larger than he’d expected. There was room for his and Christophe’s beds, matching bedside tables, and even a desk against one wall that also held an expanse of metal shelves bolted at convenient heights. It was immediately obvious which half of the room was to be his. Christophe’s bed on the closer side of the room was a tangled mess, the blood-red duvet bunched at the end and the mustard-yellow pillows stacked against the wall haphazardly. There was more than one item of clothing strewn around and under the bed, and the metallic glimmer he could see on the bedside table was a foil string of-

Yuuri blushed what was surely a fantastic shade of red, and turned to the bed that would be his.

It was a vision to the exhausted Yuuri, a vision laid out in shades of blue; a deep blue duvet, a soft blue woollen blanket folded at the end, and four plump pillows in two different tones. The bed was pushed underneath a long window that centred at Yuuri’s shoulders in height, and overlooked a dark plain of formless shapes. There was an open window between his and Christophe’s beds as well, and through it Yuuri could see the pale stretch of road, the pool of yellow concrete under the streetlight, the empty carpark, and the dark, bold outline of a building overlooking it all.

Yuuri let out the breath he had unconsciously been holding in, and turned to Christophe – who it seemed was about to burst from his shell in anticipation at Yuuri’s reaction.

“I … like it,” Yuuri finally said, allowing a shy smile to creep over him. “Thank you, Christophe.”

Christophe beamed.

 

* * *

[08:07 AM] 

 

Sleep hit Yuuri like a freight train, and he woke the next morning with only a vague recollection of the remainder of his night – he remembered pulling his night clothes from a suitcase, and waving to Christophe as the lights dimmed, but little else. Now, natural light was soaking through the window between his and Christophe’s beds, glaring off the pale beige walls and lightening the room until it was almost unbearable.

Squinting, Yuuri’s eyes fell on the culprit – the grey-white plastic blinds still folded above the window, and not pulled free to save him from the sun’s interruption.

Christophe had it right. _He_ lay sprawled over his bed wearing nothing but his shorts and a pink-and-yellow eye mask, embroidered with large, fake blue eyes where his own would have been. _I need to get a pair of those_. Yuuri paused. _Except, maybe … a little more “me”._

Pushing himself up in his own bed, Yuuri took a catalogue of the scene around him.

His five suitcases – plus backpack – were stacked unceremoniously by the door, with the exception of the suitcase he had pulled his sweatpants and sleeping shirt from earlier. Yuuri had absolutely no desire to sort through those cases right now. About the only thing he wanted was a bath, his toothbrush, and another ten hours of sleep.

Giving up on the latter, Yuuri grabbed the toiletries bag from his unzipped suitcase and softly made his way through the hall, stairs, and into the downstairs bathroom.

Yuuri was both surprised and relieved to see a shower and bath combination tucked against one of the walls in the tiled bathroom. His family’s onsen had been his favourite place to relax after a gruelling training session with Minako, his ballet instructor. He was pleased that he wouldn’t have to give up the sensation of a warm bath entirely, even if it wouldn’t be entirely the same experience.

As he finished brushing his teeth and moved to fill the bath, shucking his sweatpants off, Yuuri’s thoughts began to settle into a slow, dark spiral.

His family. His family’s onsen. Minako.

Vicchan.

The moment the bath was full enough, Yuuri sank in and submerged entirely, keeping his body and head under the surface with two hands braced against the outer edges of the tub.

He’d been in Detroit less than a day, and he already missed home like he would never see it again. The decision to move to the United States was one he and his family had agonised over for weeks, ever since his final season as a Junior had finished two months ago, with a handful of medals crowned in a single gold that felt like a lightning bolt.

Mari. His mother. His father.

Vicchan.

Yuuri opened his mouth a little, and watched the air bubbles gasp for the surface. His third season in the Junior circuit had lifted Yuuri from a one-time bronze medallist who may have just been lucky, to a consistent Junior world champion on the verge of building a reputation. The coaching offers had come in thicker than they ever had before, and his advisors at the Japanese Skating Federation had hounded him relentlessly when Celestino’s email arrived at the close of the Grand Prix series. The man was a genius, they said. He would bring you glory and victory. He would hone your skills and strengthen your weaknesses, to make you one of the best skaters in the world.

Yuuko. Takeshi.

Vicchan.

The visa they had arranged for him would last the duration of his stay with Celestino, no matter how long that might be. The scholarship the JSF secured with Wayne State University had his mother in tears, at the thought that he would be the first in his family to graduate with a degree, and from America at that. There was noone in Detroit that could have watched Vicchan, nothing that would suit Yuuri's full-time employment as a student, a skater, an international competitior.

Vicchan.

Yuuri could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and finally let himself surface with a shock of cold morning air. He lifted his hand to push wet strands of hair from his eyes, and-

“ _Kuso!_ ” Yuuri all but shrieked, his knees jerking to his chest in an attempt to cover himself as he threw himself back against the side of the tub. Yuuri continued in startled Japanese, his tone growing higher with every word, “ _What the hell are you doing in here?_ ”

“Yuuri,” Christophe slurred from where he was standing side-on to Yuuri at the sink and mirror, leaning in to examine his own face with care. “We use small voices in the small hours of the morning.”

“Christophe, I am taking a bath!”

“I can see nothing that I do not have myself,” Christophe replied absently as he reached for a white plastic box at the side of the sink.

“I – still, I-” Yuuri struggled with the words, unable to articulate just what it was that bothered him. He had grown up in what were essentially public baths – nudity didn’t _exactly_ bother him as much as it might others. “I didn’t … know that you were here.”

“Mmm, you were too busy trying to drown yourself, _topolino_ ,” Christophe said, opening the plastic container and reaching in to balance a near-invisible contact lens against his fingertip.

Yuuri sank a little lower in the bath tub, and tried desperately to throw off the surreal atmosphere that was settling around him.

“What does _that_ mean?” he finally asked, after he had given Christophe time to slip the contacts into his eyes. He had been startled in the act himself, once – and although he was frustrated, Yuuri was nothing if not thoughtful of others.

“It means that you need air to breathe.” Yuuri briefly reconsidered his stance on thoughtfulness.

“No – that’s not-” Yuuri frowned at Christophe, who laughed and turned to share a shit-eating grin.

“I know, I know _topolino_. But I think I will keep my secret for a little longer. You are very cute when you are angry.”

Yuuri fought back the red rising in his cheeks, and gestured weakly with a hand that was not wrapped desperately around his knees.

“Just … go. Please.”

“As you wish,” Christophe left with a two-fingered salute. He didn’t close the door behind him.

Yuuri groaned and leant forward to brace his forehead against the porcelain edge, the warm water sloshing around him. He had known the man less than twelve hours, but Yuuri knew already that Christophe would be the death of him.

 

* * *

 [10:00 AM]

 

“Welcome to the _Eastgate Ice Arena_ , Yuuri,” Celestino announced with no small amount of flair as the two walked across the half-filled carpark and towards the massive building. It looked even bigger in the daylight, with pale-grey corrugated iron and white pitted brick that stood starkly against the empty blue of the sky, the flush green of the nearby trees, and the pale gold of dry grass in the field to their left. Yuuri could hear the soft screech of cicadas from that field, and it reminded him so much of home that he fell half a step behind Celestino when they climbed the short steps to the tiled entrance patio.

“The _Arena_ is open to the public from noon-to-night on weekends, and for a few hours on Thursday and Friday after school lets out,” Celestino said as they reached the glass doors. Yuuri could see a handful of adults standing in the room beyond, talking to each other soundlessly. “The local hockey club books out the rink on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings, and Saturday mornings are reserved for tournaments, like today. I hold my group classes on Saturday and Monday evenings … maybe this will be easier if I just send you a timetable,” Celestino finally muttered to himself, to Yuuri’s relief. The glass doors swung open, and they stepped into the naturally lit room.

The reception of the _Arena_ was broad and overwhelmingly purple, with blue accents in the carpet that thinly softened underfoot concrete, and in the welcome desk to their right. The chatting adults at the far end of the room glanced in their direction and disregarded them immediately. Yuuri’s eyes fell past them to the archway in the centre of the far wall, drawn by the squeals and crashes and shouts that carried through from the rink beyond. He could see a slip of glass and bright lights, and the corner of a green hockey jacket, flying along the side of the rink. He turned away.

“As my student, you are welcome to use the rink whenever you please, apart from games – I have an arrangement with the owner,” Celestino informed him as they moved past the reception desk. Celestino pointed to a discrete white security box along the wall, beside the phone. “You will find a key hanging by the door in your kitchen, the security codes are written on the tag. I feel that I do not need to tell you this, but for my conscience – please, do _not_ bring strangers into the rink.” Celestino broke off to mutter to himself, and Yuuri made out only the words _Chris_ and _idiot_ before the mutters cut off with a sigh.

“But this is not time for that – this is time for you, Yuuri!” Celestino turned to face him with a cheerful grin, and Yuuri subconsciously straightened his back. “Let us begin, yes? I have seen your performances at the Junior Grand Prix, and at the Junior Worlds. You have a very strong performance score, which I suspect is from your dancing – ballet, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” Yuuri confirmed softly. It was the first time he had spoken since leaving the house, outside of a quiet _good morning_ in response to his coach’s enthusiastic _ciao ciao_.  “I’ve practiced ballet since I was three.”

“ _Fantastico_ ,” Celestino responded with his usual broad grin. “You have this grace when you skate, and move – it is beautiful to see.”

Yuuri blushed at these words, which broadened Celestino’s smile.

“Today, we will not touch the ice. The game will last until noon at least, and clean up will be another half an hour on top of that. No, today I would like to start us _off_ the ice. First, you will show me your routine on the ground – the free program from this last season. Then, we will see what we have to work with, and I will prepare a training routine to match. What do you think, Yuuri?”

Yuuri nodded and Celestino lead them further beyond the reception desk to a climb of stairs that ran against the wall of windows at the front of the room. The staircase was topped by a small landing and a locked door, which Celestino told him was locked only on weekends, and would accessible through the second key on the ring hanging in the kitchen, next to the one that would give him entry to the building.

The corridor beyond was narrow and windowless, the walls painted white but littered with bruises, scrapes, and smudges of dirt. Celestino led them to the first thin wooden door.

“This is the viewing room,” Celestino announced, opening the door and letting Yuuri look past him into what appeared to be a strangely oriented sitting room. There were mismatched sofas and sitting chairs, along with a desk and two filing cabinets, but the chairs were all facing the long far wall that looked as though it had been replaced with a television of the highest definition. Yuuri realised that the wall was in fact a window, and that it looked down over the active rink in the massive room beyond. Yuuri couldn’t see who was winning, but he could see the crowds of parents and friends, and hear muffled cheers from raised tiers along the edges of the room.

Celestino closed the door, and drew Yuuri to the next.

“This is a private locker room, for my athletes only.” This room was much smaller, and lined on one wall with tall metal lockers. There was a long wooden bench in the centre of the room, with a first-aid kit set open on one end. A table at the front edge of the room held a pile of folded clothes and towels, a small chaos of skate repair tools, and a blade-sharpening machine that looked medieval. At the end of the room, the walls turned, and the tiles of the floor suggested a closed-off area for showering. “Your locker will be the second one from the end – you can leave your skates and gym clothes in there, if you do not want to carry them home and back every time you come to skate.”

Yuuri nodded, and planned to do just that at the end of the day.

“And finally, here-” Celestino prompted Yuuri to move to the last room, at the end of the corridor. “This is the studio.”

The room was perfect. It was large; more than big enough for Yuuri to practice his dancing and routines without fear of knocking into the walls if he lost himself in the movements. The light from the in-ceiling bulbs was warm and clear, and two of the four walls had been replaced with floor-to-ceiling mirrors that were flawlessly clean. The floor was beautifully polished wood, with a slippery sheen that would be ideal for practicing spins. There was a small pile of yoga mats in one corner, a rack of light-to-medium weights beside these, and a handful of simple exercise machines directly opposite the door. A combined radio and CD player was propped at one end of the knee-height bench that ran along a mirror-less wall. The room was still-silent, with not a hint of the noise from the game outside.

Yuuri fell a little bit in love.

“Here is where we shall spend the morning,” Celestino announced, and the two moved into the room entirely. The door fell half-closed as Yuuri placed his bag down by the wall. “Take your time warming up. I’ll be here, by the door – begin when you are ready.” The man sat slowly at the end of the bench, and Yuuri turned away, fighting against the piercing feeling of his eyes.

Yuuri shrugged off his outer layer, leaving himself dressed in a loose black singlet, and dark knee-length sweatpants that had a navy-blue stripe long the outer sides. He kept his pair of springy black sneakers on – he would need them for the jumps, and to soften the landings.

After stretching carefully – touching first his toes, then his heels, then slowly pulling each of his legs behind him until they were almost completely vertical, among other increasingly complex stretches – Yuuri stepped into the centre of the room and closed his eyes. Celestino was watching. He needed to show him what he could do, that he was worthy of being here. He needed to show him what being on the ice meant to Yuuri. Eyes still closed, he raised his arms to curve above his head, slipping one foot behind the other to assume the fifth position.

He hadn’t brought his iPod or a CD, but he didn’t need music to picture the routine he was about to perform. He could already hear the music in his mind, memorised from countless hours of practice and repetition over the months of his final run in the Junior level.

The gentle piano notes echoed in his mind, and Yuuri began to move.

Translating his movements from the ice to movements in the studio had never been a problem for Yuuri. If anything, Yuuri preferred stepping his routines on ground, before he even considered the ice. His first dance had been ballet, in a studio just like this one; ice skating had only come later, under the encouragement of his best friend Yuuko. Much of his choreography had its inspiration in ballet, and it could be seen in every careful movement Yuuri made.

It could be seen in the way Yuuri held his head and arms as he leapt across the studio, picturing in his mind how it would have looked were he gliding on ice instead of wood. It could be seen in the way Yuuri didn’t hesitate to throw himself into a double axel, the way he landed with a graceful bend in his knee, the way his free leg held at an exact angle as it swung about. Yuuri ran and twisted and danced about the studio, using every scrap of space he needed, as he poured the comforting routine into the mirrored room. And as his body coiled and uncoiled, Yuuri could feel the source of this comfort soaking into his movements, loosening his muscles and moving the dance away from just a routine, and into his favourite story.

At the cautious beginning, Yuuri remembered the first time he had danced on the ice, the first time he had glided from one end of the rink to the other with his arms poised just like Minako-sensei had shown him. A fold forward, small like a child, and an arm extended as he rose. _I am new and cautious, and it feels so_ right _._

For the excited first jump, he remembered the first time he had danced in front of others, their eyes shining the way his mother’s did when Mari offered her a scribbled drawing from school. A leap, two turns, arms thrown out in delight. _They can see, now. They see_ me _._

He remembered how Takeshi's father, the only ice skating coach of Haesetsu, had taken him aside and told him that he had a gift, and that sharing that gift with the world was his duty as a skater, as a dancer. Steps quickened with urgency and movements bolder than before, demanding the attention of the audience. _They understand me? They understand me!_

He remembered competing for the first time, the sound of the audience as they watched and listened and applauded him. A jump, twice in combination, higher than before. _See what I can do, see what I am capable of?_ A turn, a kick, a graceful curve of the arm _… I want to do this forever._

As the music in his mind finally tapered, the notes growing higher and softer towards their finish, Yuuri imagined himself gliding back to the centre of the rink, wrapping one arm about himself and carefully raising the other with his inner wrist turned to the ceiling, his feet tucking themselves back into fifth position. He could feel where the ice would bite against his blades, could feel the cold creeping against his ankles and calves. With his eyes closed, Yuuri could almost imagine he was back there, at his last and greatest performance – the Junior Worlds, in a snow-covered Netherlands, and his breath was catching in his throat because he’d known that it was perfect, that all his worries had been for nothing. That Minako and Coach Nishigori were waiting for him at the edge of the arena, and that they had _seen_ him-

“ _Bellisimo_ , Yuuri,” Celestino’s cheerful voice broke through the illusion. Yuuri lowered his raised arm and half-turned, to see Celestino sitting patiently at the end of the bench beside the closed door. Yuuri had forgotten the man was there, so caught up in the memories that had ended with his first gold at an international competition. “That was wonderful. Truly, very wonderful. Your sequences are – well, you have magnificent control. This comes from your years of ballet, hmm?”

Yuuri only nodded, still panting a little too hard from his routine to speak just yet.

“Yes, your control of your body, I don’t think we will need to spend much time on that,” Celestino heaved himself from the bench and made his way closer to Yuuri, who finally relaxed his feet to a resting position. “Here – there is something … I need to be sure. Can you repeat for me your combination? And then the sequence after this?”

“Okay,” Yuuri agreed easily, before moving to stand in the furthest corner, facing the mirrors. His brown eyes, framed by a pair of subtle rubber-grip glasses, peered back at him from two angles. His hair wasn’t sticking to his forehead yet, he hadn’t worked up enough of a sweat, but it was feathered lightly from where it had been disturbed by his spinning jumps. Yuuri could see Celestino behind him, standing to one side where he would not be in the way, his arms folded in contemplation.

_The combination, it was … triple salchow, double toe-loop … yes, then turn, shift this arm, a twizzler, kick – gently – and turn, hold that arm, shift to the left inside blade –_

With the sequence already playing through in his mind, Yuuri braced himself for the first jump. He began stepping backward into the movement, let his free leg rise as he turned once to gain momentum, pushed _down_ with left leg and knee, brought his arms to his chest as he rose, and –

 _Oh_.

He was so startled, that even as his body began its turn into the toe-loop, he could feel himself popping out of position. He managed only a single rotation of the toe-loop before stuttering to a halt, not two metres from where Celestino was nodding thoughtfully into the hand propped over his mouth. Yuuri’s arms were curved awkwardly at shoulder height, and his eyes were wide in shock.

“A double,” Celestino said slowly, as if Yuuri wasn’t already aware of how many rotations he had _actually_ fit into the jump. “This was a triple salchow in your Junior Worlds performance, yes?”

“It was,” Yuuri confirmed weakly, the words a little bitter on his tongue as he finally lowered his arms from the landing position. His toes curled against the lining of his sneakers. He hadn’t even noticed that the jump had slipped to a double, he had been so lost in the story of his routine. _How did I not notice?_

“You did not have the speed, perhaps,” Celestino offered to Yuuri as he lowered the fingers pressed to his mouth. “On the ice, you enter this from a mohawk, with much speed from the length of the arena. Here, we are starting from a standing position.” Celestino paused. “Which triples can you land, on the ground?”

“Toe-loop, loop, … and salchow … normally,” Yuuri admitted slowly. _And the axel … more often than not, anyway._ He shifted his balance to one leg, to give his right foot a subtle shake. Despite the cushion of the sneaker sole, his toes were still ringing a little from the impact of his landings.

“Show me again.”

Yuuri returned to the corner, and this time when he met his own eyes in the mirror, he didn’t see the cautious confidence from before, the assurance that had come from finishing a favoured routine with grace and poise. This time, the eyes that looked back at him were wide. They weren’t sure that he could make it. _You didn’t even notice_ , they told him. _How many of your other jumps have slipped without you noticing? Did you really jump a double axel? Did you really think you_ could _? Who do you think you are, to think you could land a triple salchow off the ice?_

 _Can you even land a triple salchow_ on _the ice?_

Yuuri’s next breath was heavier than the others before. He shook his hands out against his thighs, lowering his head and gathering determination even as it slipped away from him.

_I can do this, I know I can. I’ve done this before._

Tensing his core and pinching his brow in determination, Yuuri began his step back for the lead-in once more.

 _Step, hop-turn, hop-turn – swing the leg, bend, push,_ jump –

“Hmm.”

Yuuri slowly lowered his arms from where they had been straight and wide for the finish. He’d landed at the correct angle, on the correct foot, with his free leg raised for balance. If he’d been on his blades, he would have landed on the correct edge. It would have been a perfect jump.

A perfect double salchow.

“You are not under-rotating, or over-rotating,” Celestino finally spoke. His arms were folded once more, and Yuuri could see in the reflection of the mirror that the coach was considering him, his eyes picking apart Yuuri’s pose. “Your form is perfect, for a double. I know that you have the height and power you need to make the triple. So, this is a different problem, hmm?”

Yuuri’s breathing had recovered completely from the routine, and from the energy of the jumps. But it was still hitching a little on every breath in.

“One more for me, Yuuri. But this time, try to remember what you are thinking, what you are doing when you lead to the jump. And then share with me what you were thinking, when you have landed.” Celestino gestured with one hand for Yuuri to return to the corner, which Yuuri did with a shaky breath.

_What am I thinking?_

Yuuri blinked at himself in the mirrors.

_Why was it a double? What did I do wrong? I need to make sure, I have to be perfect, I need to push harder, I need-_

Yuuri raised his arms a little in preparation for the jump, and bent his knees as he practiced a bounce on the balls of his feet.

 _My thigh muscles need to move like_ this _… my arms need to go like_ that _…_

He didn’t feel ready – if anything, he felt even less ready that he had before. But waiting wasn’t making it any easier, and Celestino was watching him.

 _I can do this. My body knows how. I just need to tell it what to do_.

Yuuri stepped backwards, in a mimic of a gliding mohawk, and spun to gather the speed of the entry. He tensed his jumping leg, hunched down as the energy grew, and sprung from the ball of his foot as he pulled his arms and legs against the centrifugal force, to nestle against his body.

Suspended in the air for a moment, as the mirrors spun around him, Yuuri could feel his body tightening, the energy fading too quickly. _Something’s wrong_.

He pulled his right leg from where it was crossed under the left, and curled his toes in anticipation of the impact.

The shock of the ground hit Yuuri harder than it had all morning, and his free leg wasn’t where it should be, and one of his arms was still half-tucked to his chest, and his knee was buckling, and he was right, dammit, he couldn’t do this, he couldn’t-

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri blinked, and found that the new, warm weight across his chest was Celestino’s arm, catching him from where he had over-rotated the landing, and tripped, and nearly taken the Italian man out in the process.

“Celes- oh, no, I’m so sorry!” Yuuri stammered as he scrambled to find his feet again, to carry his own weight. “I didn’t mean – are you-?”

“I’m fine, Yuuri,” Celestino comforted him as he helped Yuuri prop himself back on to two feet. “You did no damage. Now – come, sit over here with me.”

Celestino guided Yuuri to the bench, and as he sank onto the wooden surface, the reality finally hit him.

_I can’t land a triple salchow._

_I can’t – I can’t even land – but I have to, if I want to skate – only I_ can’t _– how pathetic is that –_

“Yuuri, tell me what you were thinking, during your last jump.”

Yuuri blinked hard. His hands were gripping each other between his knees, so hard that white was blooming where the skin was being pressured. Yuuri could see Celestino’s hand, resting against the man’s own knee next to him. He didn’t dare look up, to see the older man’s face.

“I was thinking …” _What was I thinking? What was I_ thinking? “I was thinking about where my body needed to be … I suppose.” _Was that what I was thinking? … yes. Yes, it was_. “I was thinking about my jumping leg … my free leg. My arms. I know my form was perfect, it _was_. But - but then I tried to put _more_ in, to make the third turn, and when I was in the air … it was like the power wasn’t there anymore.” _I’m not explaining it right. These aren’t the right words – but I don’t know how to say this feeling, that I’m … that it isn’t …_

“I thought so,” Celestino’s voice rumbled from beside him. Yuuri’s head raised a little, enough that he could see Celestino’s chin and shoulders. Celestino was smiling. “I believe I know what your problem is, Yuuri-ino.”

Yuuri blinked, both at the words, and the unfamiliar suffix.

“You do?”

“Mm-hm. I want you to try something for me. I want you to try this jump, one more time.”

Yuuri’s breath caught in his throat. _I can’t try again – I can’t. What if I fail? I can’t fail again, I can’t handle it, I’ll –_

“And this time, I want you to think of nothing.”

“… nothing?” Yuuri felt at once that this was the last thing he had expected to hear, but also that this made more sense than anything he had told himself so far. It was confusing. “But how will I make the jump? I need to make sure – I need to tell my body what to do, to make sure that I-”

Celestino raised a hand to touch Yuuri’s shoulder, and Yuuri finally raised his head to meet Celestino’s eyes. “Your body already knows what to do. I have seen it, during the Junior Worlds, during the Junior Grand Prix. You are a skilled skater, you do not need to think _where must I be_ , or _what does this leg do_. When you think these things, you bring hesitation to your body, and you begin to fail. Yuuri, what you need to do is _trust_ what your body already knows. There is no one here to judge you. There is no penalty for getting this wrong. If you under-rotate, if your landing is shaky, if you touch down – only I will know, and I will not care that you have done so. I will only be proud of you for trying.”

 _I will only be proud of you for trying_.

A breath. One more. Another.

“… okay.” Yuuri straightened his back and pushed himself from the bench, pulling free from Celestino’s hand. He crossed the room, caging himself against the corner where two walls of mirrors touched.

Yuuri met his own eyes, reflecting back at him accusingly. Brown, behind glass, behind sweat-stuck hair.

 _I’ve done this before. I don’t need to tell my body what to do_.

 _I need to think of … nothing_.

Yuuri closed his eyes firmly, ignoring the accusing stare, forgetting it. _Don’t think of the memory. Don’t think of the crowd. They aren’t here_. And this time when he moved, it was as if he was only a bystander – as if he were Celestino, watching through the mirrors. He didn’t tell his body _down, bend, push, turn_. He only stepped, and let his body flow with the motions.

He could feel his free leg spinning with the momentum. He could feel his muscles tensing, could feel the power building. He could feel the way his body coiled as the leg began to push down. His arms shifted inwards, folding, and his legs twisted together as the air of the studio rushed around him. One foot extended itself, almost absently. The other leg curled itself away, preparing for the balance of the landing. His arms stretched out of their own accord, the line of his fingers an elegant extension of his wrists. The first impact shook through him lightly, his right leg bending naturally to soften the blow. His body hopped once through the momentum that would have taken him about the rink for the next step in the routine, his free leg swung around behind him and tightened to counter the backward force, and then his body finally slowed, and stopped.

Yuuri opened his eyes, and found his reflection in the mirrors. He was standing on one foot, body unmoving, with both arms and his left leg extended just so. Celestino was standing behind him. Yuuri’s heart skipped a beat – _how many rotations, how many was that, was that enough -_ and then Celestino nodded.

He was smiling.

 _You see?_ his smile seemed to say. _You_ can _do it_.

Yuuri grinned back, his first smile of the day. His thoughts relived the last few moments, and the smile on his face grew.

“This is your first lesson, Yuuri-ino,” Celestino stepped closer, both hands now coming to clasp Yuuri’s shoulders. He was standing behind Yuuri, and their eyes met in their reflection as Yuuri’s body slowly sank from its landing position. “You must learn to move without thinking, and without hesitation. Trust yourself, trust your ability, and your body will obey. We will discover together just how far you can go.” Celestino’s hands tightened comfortingly. “I can’t wait, Yuuri. I can’t wait to see how far you will go.”

The moment stretched, and Yuuri’s silent agreement rose in the shape of a shy smile, and a small nod.

“Now!” Celestino shook his hands against Yuuri’s shoulders, startling him out of the small reverie he had fallen into. “We shall start with some exercises! I would like you to show me the strengthening routine you use already – I will make changes where we need to, and help design a new routine to prepare your body. I want you to be landing at least one quad for this next season, Yuuri – and I know that you will be able to do this! Now – here, fetch a mat from the corner. Show me the stretches you use for …”

The morning marched on, relentless, brutal, and satisfying. And although they did not even touch the ice, although Yuuri left having landed nothing more than what he had already known he could, he left with a sense of accomplishment like none he had felt since the first time he had landed a triple axel in training.

Celestino was unlike any coach he had trained with so far. Not like Minako-sensei, who was tough love and hard ballet wrapped up in a dangerously delicate exterior. Not like Nishigori-san, who had become Yuuri’s skating coach as the owner of the _Ice Palace_ and only full-time ice instructor in Haesetsu, and had been a gruff, awkward, but supportive man. Not like the temporary coaches of the training retreats he had frequented, who were so impersonal as to almost make Yuuri feel that they were instructional videos come to life.

No. Celestino was different.

And Yuuri was looking forward to that.

 

* * *

[10:47pm]

 

Life with Christophe was going to be strange, Yuuri thought to himself that night as he lay in bed and carefully recounted his day. The man was unlike any he had ever met before – and living in the only inn to be found in his tourist town, he had met a _lot_ of people.

The first lesson Yuuri had learned was that Christophe insisted on music.

There was to be music in every room, at all times, Christophe had told Yuuri as he walked back in from the _Arena_ in the early afternoon to find the older man bobbing his foot at the kitchen counter. A CD player in a corner against the wall was launching a chorus of pop music with a seductive beat. “ _How else am I to find the perfect music for my routines?”_

That had also been the moment Yuuri remembered with sudden clarity just where he had seen Christophe before. The man had made it to the Senior division of the Grand Prix Finals two seasons ago, Yuuri had been sitting in the crowds after pleading with Minako-sensei to stay, and the sultry croon _It’s Britney, Bitch_ had slapped him across the ears just as the red-leather figure on the ice began to move.

Facing that same man in the kitchen, Yuuri’s thoughts had ranged from _how could I have ever forgotten that,_ to, _no wonder I erased that from my memory_.

The second lesson Yuuri had learned was that clothes, especially in the warm suggestions of an oncoming summer, were optional at best.

Most of the men he had seen naked were too busy sitting around the bathing area or soaking in the heat of a natural hot spring for anyone to really _notice_ anything. The onsen had rules, and expected behaviours. Walking into their bedroom to hunt down his charging cord, and finding Christophe standing stark naked as he scrolled through messages on his phone, obeyed none of those rules or behaviours.

 _“I got distracted while looking for my skating clothes, it happens every now and then_.”

 _“It really isn’t that big of a deal, topolino – now we are equal!_ ”

 _“It’s alright to look,_ Yuuri _, I am not shy!”_

He had no reason to be shy, Yuuri thought to himself privately, before quickly moving on with a shake of his head.

The third lesson to be learned was that skating, for Christophe, was the most visceral joy that could be had in life.

Yuuri had spent his evening on the couch of the lounge, the TV set to a backdrop news channel, rubbing oil deep into his thighs and calves after the hours of tense work Celestino had put them through. Christophe had returned from his own time with Celestino in a sweat-drenched shirt and matching tights, cheeks flushed, and his eyes sparkling so much that Yuuri could distinctly see the reflection of the TV and both of the lit table lamps.

 _“The ice, Yuuri, it calls to me_ ,” the man had crooned dramatically as he flung himself over an armchair that Yuuri decided there and then never to use. _“She is like a lover, hmm? She demands and demands, but if you give yourself to her, you will be-”_ his voice had caught, “ _-rewarded.”_  

Which was more than Yuuri had ever wanted to know about Christophe’s skating.

The last lesson Yuuri had learned that day, as the sun set through the open back door and cast red shadows through the lounge, was that Christophe was an amazing cook, and Yuuri should never have doubted him.

Lunch had been picked out of a salad bowl in the fridge, alongside a cup of instant microwaved rice. But dinner was something else entirely. When Yuuri had walked into the kitchen to see Christophe humming at the counter, pots and pans and glass jars strewn about, his first instinct had been to panic. It was only later, when Christophe pressed a plate of red-sauced eggplant parmesan and chicken into his lap while he sank into the couch next to him, that Yuuri admitted to himself that he was pleasantly surprised.

 _“Food is love, Yuuri_ ,” was all Christophe had said, curling his legs under him as he changed the TV to a repeat of last Monday’s _The Bachelor._

And now laying in his bed with Christophe in the bed across from his, tapping out a message on his phone, Yuuri stared up at the dark ceiling. His headphones were tucked into his ears, playing a soothing melody overlaid by a female Japanese singer.

Detroit wasn’t anything like home was. But that was alright, Yuuri thought as he deliberately closed his eyes. This was something new, and different, and somehow he was just too curious to do anything other than look forward to finding out what tomorrow would bring. 


	2. Introductions [Part 1]

[Sunday]

[May 2, 2010]

[8:58 am]

 

Yuuri stood at the edge of the rink, skates hanging from one hand as he drank in the sight.

The rink was big – bigger than the _Ice Palace_ , certainly, which bode well for Yuuri learning to use the full expanse of an internationally-sized ice rink during competitions. Sturdy wooden benches rose about three edges of the rink, and a handful of banners were strung from the high peaks of the ceiling. The goals from yesterday’s hockey game had already been hefted off the rink, and a purple and red Zamboni was curling its way around the far end of the ice.

“ _Ciao ciao_ , Wally!” Celestino called across the room as he moved up behind Yuuri. With his glasses off, Yuuri could only just make out a figure hunched at the back of the Zamboni, who waved a gloved hand as their reply was swallowed by the sound of the machine. Celestino then turned to Yuuri. “Wally will be finished with the rink soon – in the meantime, warm up with Christophe and Theresa, _bene_?”

“Okay,” Yuuri agreed softly, heading to an open space on the long side of the rink where his roommate and a young teenage girl were standing, chatting as they stretched their arms out behind them. The area was padded by soft black rubber mats, and he could see their bags and skates next to them on a wooden table against the wall of the rink. Yuuri carefully dropped his own bag and skates beside them.

“Yuuri!” Christophe greeted him with a charming smile. The man was in a teal shirt today that clung to his biceps, along with loose grey sweatpants for the chill of the ice. “Have you met Theresa yet? Theresa, this is our newest rink-mate, Yuuri. Isn’t he simply adorable? Tell me he is adorable, Theresa.”

“Hey, Yuuri,” Theresa said with a strong American accent, smiling shyly as she lowered her heel from a forward upright split. She was wearing a magenta leopard-print singlet that contrasted beautifully against her dark-mocha skin, and her tightly curled hair was pulled into a ponytail that flared about her as she stretched. “It’s nice to meet you!”

“It’s nice to meet you too,” Yuuri smiled quietly back at the girl. She was a more than a full head shorter than him, and very slender. Yuuri guessed that she could be no older than thirteen. He remembered a snippet of Celestino mentioning her, during their drive through late-night Detroit. “Celestino said, he said that you have been training with him for six months now?”

“Yeah, officially – I used to be part of his group classes, since I was a kid, but he reckons I’ll be ready for the Junior circuit next year, so he convinced my Mom to let him take me one-on-one! Celestino even thinks I might make it to Junior qualifiers this year – can you _imagine_?” Theresa’s smile was part proud, part shy, and Yuuri’s smile softened with empathy. He recognised that look – it was the same face he’d worn for his first tournament in Japan, standing on the ice feeling like the world’s worst pretender and the world’s happiest person all at once.

“I was really nervous, the first time I competed at the Junior level,” he revealed after a moment’s hesitation, before propping his leg against the side of the rink and beginning to stretch out his thighs. “I almost threw up when my coach told me it was my turn to skate … and I _did_ throw up when it was over. I didn’t have time to find my guards, so I had to throw up in my coach’s handbag.”

Theresa gave a startled giggle, and Christophe grinned too from where he was lunging by the table.

“You did better than me, _topolino_ ,” Christophe said in a laughing tone. “My first Junior Worlds I was so worried about missing my cue, that I started my routine five seconds too soon. I had to stand at my first resting position and wait for the music to catch up – I almost _died_ from embarrassment, Theresa, it was terrible. I have never missed a cue since.”

Theresa’s giggle turned into a full-bodied laugh, and she slipped from her one-legged quad stretch to catch herself against the wall.

“I don’t think you’re making me feel any better about Junior level,” Theresa said with a sceptical, but amused look. She and Christophe moved to collect their skates and slipped off their walking shoes; Yuuri remained standing, with a few stretches still left to cover. “It _sounds_ terrifying.”

“Oh it is, Theresa,” Christophe said, his voice softening just a little. “Terrifying, but exhilarating. You will find nothing like it in the world, _mio caro_.”

“Mmm,” Yuuri hummed in agreement. “Yeah.” _Nothing like it_.

A few moments later, the rumble of the Zamboni noticeably quietened as it was moved to a small garage beyond one of the short sides of the rink. A man with salt-and-pepper hair, a creased face, and skin a few shades lighter than Theresa’s left the garage a few moments later, and he sauntered over to where the three skaters were readying themselves for the ice.

“She’s ready for ya’,” Wally grumbled good-naturedly, nodding to Theresa and sparing a wary, but fond look for Christophe. “The hockey lads cut her up something good, but it’s nothing my ’bini can’t fix.” He peered at Yuuri, who gave the man a nervous wave.

“H-Hi! I’m Yuuri – uh, Celestino’s new skater?”

“Yeah, he told me you were coming,” Wally said gruffly. “Don’t skate too hard, ya’ hear me? You’ll be answering to me if there’s anything goes wrong.”

“Uh-” Yuuri was a little stunned, but Wally moved past him with a no-nonsense nod before he could find the words to respond.

“Don’t worry about Wal, he’s just a big ol’ grump – he really does have a soft heart underneath,” Theresa told Yuuri, who was still standing with his arm half-raised from the wave, lowering slowly. “He’ll warm up to you, like he does everyone.”

“Though he still has not warmed up to me,” Christophe added thoughtfully. Yuuri cautiously sat beside him, and reached for his own pair of black training skates.

“I think this has less to do with time, _caramellino_ , and more to do with the merlot you left spilled on his rink two months ago,” Celestino said as he approached the three skaters. The coach had a clipboard and spiral notebook in one hand, and a quirk in his brow as he eyed the Swiss skater.

“I apologised, did I not?” Christophe said with a grumble, but his eyes were glittering in amusement. Celestino rolled his eyes and jerked his head to the rink with a sharp string of what Yuuri thought to be Italian, and Christophe replied in kind. He gave the coach with a loose, mocking salute before heaving to his feet and making his way to the nearest rink gate. Christophe took off immediately for the far side of the rink, digging a pair of white headphones into his ears.

“Theresa! You will work on your turns as well, until I am finished starting Yuuri off,” Celestino informed the young girl, who nodded obediently and stood cautiously on her own guards as well. “You will focus on variations of your Choctaw, and the mohawk, yes?”

“Yes, coach!” Theresa chirped as she slipped her guards off and balanced them on the wood of the rink wall, before stepping onto the ice and gracefully making her way out.

“Now, Yuuri-ino, we have close to four hours before the rink is opened to the public, and I mean to use every _minute_ of that to begin my work with you,” Celestino spoke in an enthusiastic, go-getter voice that Yuuri knew he would come to recognise with a low thrill of primal fear in the coming weeks. “We have already seen that you can dance on the ground – now you must show me that you can dance on the ice. Come, come.”

Yuuri balanced on the flats of his guards and stepped awkwardly to the gate. Celestino leant against the wood to the side and braced his elbows, while Yuuri freed himself of the plastic strips and finally set thin metal blades against ice for the first time since he’d left home.

Easy. It was so _easy_ to find his balance here, to glide a handful of steps to the side, to swivel, to glide again. Yuuri set his shoulders back and straight in a way that felt unnatural off the ice, and let his arms hang with casual confidence where they would normally be curled about his torso nervously. The ice felt hard and sharp under his blades, and the _snick_ ing sound that echoed him across the flat felt like it was shaving every scrap of fear from him. He felt more confident, more himself. He felt-

“He-ey! _Yuuri!_ ”

_Oops._

“ _Sumimasen_ , Celestino!” Yuuri apologised with flushed cheeks as he quickly made his way back to his coach. The man looked half-annoyed, half-amused.

“Now that you have returned to our own Earth, Yuuri, may we begin?” Celestino asked wryly.

“Yes, coach,” Yuuri said apologetically, scratching to a halt before Celestino and bending his head a little in embarrassment. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry, Yuuri – just try to pay a little more attention, yes?” Celestino said casually. “Now – first, I would like you to show me the Salchow, and then we shall move to the triple Axel. We need to keep these skills sharp, and look to improve from there. Move to the centre of the rink, please Yuuri, and then show me the same triple Salchow of yesterday. Remember-”

 _Think of nothing. Let my body guide me through_.

Yuuri nodded and moved to the middle of the rink with a few powerful sweeps of his legs, and dragged his left skate to stop in the dead centre of a large red symbol half-hidden under the ice.

Yuuri closed his eyes.

 _Think of nothing_.

 

* * *

[10:37am]

 

“Your triple Axel is _amazing,_ Yuuri! How long’ve you been able to land it like that?” Theresa asked with bounding energy as the two took a break by the side of the rink. Yuuri reached into his unzipped bag with a small frown and drew a water bottle out.

“Um … I suppose, I started landing the triple axel about two years ago? But I couldn’t land it reliably until last season,” Yuuri said before taking a deep drink. Cold as the rink might be, his throat was still parched after the countless jumps and lead-ins Celestino had walked him through. _To strengthen your thighs, Yuuri_ , he remembered the coach saying. _Familiarity is born of repetition. Now – again!_ Yuuri’s legs burned a little in memory.  

“Celestino said I shouldn’t be thinking about even _trying_ the triple axel for another year or two,” Theresa said, draping over the wooden barrier forlornly. “But I’m just worried my body is gonna grow before then, you know?”

Yuuri did know – puberty had been a horrible time for him. Shooting up half a foot in the space of a year and having to relearn all his jumps had been hell when he was finally starting to compete at more than just a regional level.

“Theresa!” Celestino called, pulling both of the skaters’ attention as he walked in through the archway that led to the reception and snapped a flip-top phone closed. “Your mother called – she says that the barbeque has been cancelled on account of the rain, and you can stay at the rink until late as usual.”

 _“Yes!_ ” Theresa whooped, almost falling as she jumped a little on the ice. Yuuri’s hand darted out to catch her, but the girl quickly recovered and darted back out to the ice, slipping in a handful of turns as she went.

“She is a very sweet girl, isn’t she?” Celestino commented as he joined Yuuri at the barrier.

“Yes, she is.” Theresa was now skating alongside Christophe, who turned so that he was gliding backwards across the ice as they talked in voices too distant for Yuuri to hear. 

“She will do well at Juniors, I think,” Celestino continued. “She has three of the six triples down, and can hold a Beillmann spin for longer than a lot of the Senior competitors can. I have high hopes for her.” The man turned to Yuuri. “Speaking of Seniors – Yuuri, this year you are entering the Senior tracks, yes?”

Yuuri stiffened.

“I – uh, yes?”

“Hm,” Celestino eyed him carefully. “You do not sound very confident, Yuuri-ino. Why is this?”

The words caught in his throat.

“I _am_ … I mean, I’m looking forward to it?” It was one thing to joke about his nervousness with Christophe and Theresa, but there was something different about telling his coach who would be teaching, and watching, and hoping that he would do well; who Yuuri would be representing at these competitions; whose reputation would suffer alongside his own if he failed.

“Hmm.” Celestino eyed Yuuri dubiously. Yuuri couldn’t look at him. “You know Yuuri, it is normal for skaters to get nerves when they prepare and step onto the ice. I have seen some skaters that faint, that throw up, that run and cry before their performances. This is because the skaters know that they spend months and months of preparation, just to skate for less than five minutes, and even the smallest mistake can leave them with nothing to show for it. Is this what could make _you_ feel … unconfident?”

“No.”

This time Yuuri did look at Celestino, and the man looked surprised, his thick eyebrows drawn up in a subtle arch.

“No?”

“No, I don’t … making mistakes isn’t the worst thing that bothers me, really,” Yuuri said. He folded his arms and propped them on the barrier, so that he was looking past Celestino’s shoulder and towards the reception’s archway. “I don’t skate just because I want to do it _perfectly_.”

“Then why _do_ you skate?”

Yuuri felt his mouth go dry, and his fingers stilled limply against the wood. He opened his mouth as if to speak, but closed it again almost immediately. _I already told you. Didn’t I?_ He didn’t speak. He _couldn’t_.

Celestino sighed, and let the subject drop.

“No matter, Yuuri – we can talk more on this later, if you prefer. For now, we will focus on the _substance_ of your skating, and start preparing you for the coming season. Do you have any songs that you would like to use, or are thinking of using?” Celestino moved on, and Yuuri was relieved – until the next words finally registered, and he was left feeling even more panicked than he had been before.

“I – uh?”

Celestino only nodded.

“I will make a playlist for you,” the man promised firmly. “You will listen to these songs for the week, and tell me which of them you would like to use. I have some sequences already in mind for most of these songs – so you have no reason to worry, Yuuri-ino, you will be in good hands. Okay?”

“Okay,” Yuuri said weakly, and Celestino was quick to move on from there, sending Yuuri back out onto the ice with new orders to spin until the dizziness caught up with him, and then spin a little more to push the edges of what he could manage. Yuuri twisted into a simple upright spin, raising his arms above him as he tightened his ankles, and pushed faster and faster. The force of the turn pulled at his limbs and so he pulled back, sending his body spiralling faster still.

As the world washed away to horizontal streaks of white and grey, Yuuri ignored the way his heart was beating in his throat, the way his tongue felt heavy in his mouth.

 _Think of nothing_.

Yuuri spun faster.

 

* * *

 [11:46am]

 

The rink was due to be opened to the public at noon, but Yuuri and the others found themselves ushered off the ice at quarter-to by a grumbling Wally and his grumbling Zamboni to wash away the pits and scratches of their mornings’ work.

“Are you staying for the afternoon, Yuuri?” Theresa asked as the three sat on a bench by their bags, drinking from their respective water bottles and flexing their knees to keep the muscles from tightening. Christophe was mopping his forehead with a thin towel, and Yuuri had to push at the hair of his fringe to keep the damp strands from stinging his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Yuuri mumbled. He fingered the water bottle he was holding loosely between his knees. “There’s … people.”

Celestino had thrown Yuuri for a loop, left him dizzy and uneven from more than just the hour of near endless spins. Yuuri had been so sure that he had gotten the message across, that Celestino had heard him. But if their conversation was anything to go by, then maybe Yuuri hadn’t been as clear as he thought he had.

_If Celestino can’t understand me when I skate, then how many others have I missed as well?_

Yuuri closed his eyes, his brow pulled tight. His knee began to bounce in agitation. His fingers clenched tight about the plastic bottle.

For as long as he could remember, Yuuri had struggled to find words. There were some that he could find easily – _I’m sorry, I know I didn’t do it right, I’ll do better next time, please forgive me_ – but there were other times when what he needed to say seemed beyond the breadth of what language could convey. _Thank you_ seemed so insufficient, and didn’t bear the strength of his gratitude, or his relief. _I love you_  ... _I love you_  was just three words, they didn’t reveal the way his heart would constrict, the way his lips would smile without his consent. _I’m glad you’re here_ was so shallow, and Yuuri could never seem to give the words the weight they deserved when he tried them one morning as his mother walked him home from school.

But when he skated, Yuuri felt those words fall into movements that felt so clean and clear, and the first time he had skated for his mother, he had seen the tears in her eyes and known that she heard every word that he had spoken, and that she understood them.

Skating gave Yuuri the power to speak without words, and he had traced so many conversations into ice rinks about the world – in Japan first, and then in competitions internationally – that he felt as though he had left parts of himself scattered about, waiting for someone to pick them up and find them.

But Celestino – Celestino had changed that.

In the studio, just the morning before, Yuuri had danced to the story of why he skated, which he considered the best story he had danced in his career so far. He had told Celestino of his discovery of skating, of how his mother had _understood_ him for the very first time, of how his friends and family and even strangers had seen him skate, and read the words in his movements.

Except Celestino hadn’t been listening. And now Yuuri could feel his mind slipping into blank horror. How many other people had missed his words? For how long had Yuuri been having a one-sided conversation?

Had anyone ever really heard him at all?

“I don’t think I want to be around people right now,” Yuuri said so quietly, he was surprised the others could make him out.

“Oh.” Theresa looked a little insulted, and Yuuri lurched forward in his seat in alarm.

“No – it’s nothing you’ve done! I just – I get like this – I don’t – sometimes, I don’t …” _The_ words _. What are the right words?_ “It’s … not that I don’t want to spend time with you. I just get like this, sometimes," Yuuri finally said, his cadence slowing as he finally settled into something that resembled what he meant.

“Okay,” Theresa finally accepted with a hesitant look. “But y’know, you can go up to the studio if you still wanna practice?”

Yuuri felt relief creeping in.

“Yeah. Yes. Thank you, Theresa. I think I'll do that.”

When Celestino came to see them once more, having gone to speak to Wally as the man packed his Zamboni away, it was to find Yuuri standing with his bag slung over one shoulder and his skates hanging from his free hand.

“You are done for today, Yuuri?” Celestino’s sounded surprised.

“Mm. I think I will go to the studio instead,” Yuuri replied, softer than when he had been speaking with Theresa just moments before. “Is that alright?”

“Yes,” Celestino said slowly. Yuuri tightened his fingers about the laces of his skates at the thought of his coach’s disappointment, although he saw no trace of it in his voice or eyes. “Yes, this will be fine. The rink will be quite busy today, anyway. The rink is always more popular when it rains, hmm?”

Theresa brightened at the thought and nodded, Christophe bobbed his head in agreement from where he had been sitting unusually quiet, and Yuuri released a tense breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

A metal grate set into the wall beside them suddenly began to roll up with a screeching noise, drawing the attention of the skaters. The grate pulled back to reveal the counter and shelves of a store in the room beyond, filled with bags of cheap food and plastic crates of rented skates stacked into wooden compartment shelves. The young woman standing though the hole-in-the-wall, pulling on the grate to raise it, looked grumpily familiar.

“Ah, Yuuri – the rink will be opening very soon,” Celestino said as he waved to the young woman, who ignored him. “If you leave for the studio now, you will miss the crowds, okay? Practice some more spins, and I will come and join you soon – first, I need to give Christophe and Theresa some new exercises to practice. Is this alright?”

Yuuri nodded, and moved quickly to the reception area. Beyond the glass doors he could see cars pulling up to the carpark under the dark, fat rain that had been falling since dawn. His steps quickened, and he rushed for the staircase that led to the upper level.

Christophe’s eyes followed him as he went, prickling against the back of his neck.

 

* * *

 [11:49am]

 

Watching Yuuri skate was fascinating.

Although he was only two years older than Yuuri – twenty to Yuuri’s eighteen – Christophe had never actually shared the ice with him at the same level. Yuuri had been late to the Junior circuits, while Christophe had left for Seniors when he was only sixteen. Christophe could remember catching glimpses of the boy in corridors at the Grand Prix Finals, the only international competition where they would have competed at the same time and place. But he had never seen him skate.

On the ice of _Arena,_  Yuuri moved like he had purpose, and every movement was deliberate. He would flow from one twist to another as if he had planned it all along, even though Christophe knew he had to have been improvising as he went. He was hypnotic, his arms curved with grace, his legs strong when he pushed off, and then soft when he rested.

But then there were his jumps. Yuuri’s jumps were something else entirely.

Christophe wasn’t sure what it was, but when Yuuri had jumped today, Christophe watching curiously from the sidelines, his purpose simply vanished. It was as if the air around Yuuri was gone, leaving the teen standing in a void. Where his sequences were heavy with _something_ , pulling your attention in and demanding it, his jumps felt like empty space. They were form perfect – of course they were, they would have had to be for Yuuri to have won as many medals as he had in his final year in Juniors – but there was none of the charisma that filled his sequences and steps. Christophe was _dying_ to know why.

In the deep of Friday night, when he first heard the timid voice from the kitchen, he had found himself presented with one of the shyest specimens he had seen for some time. Yuuri blushed at everything, and his voice was painfully quiet. It made Christophe want to grab him by the shoulders and ask him what he was doing in such a competitive, performance-driven sport, but also wrap an arm around those same shoulders and glare at anyone who even thought of doing such a thing.

It all made sense the first time he saw Yuuri on ice. Of course Yuuri was a figure skater; what else could he have _ever_ been?

So it startled Christophe, worried him even, when he saw that same _dullness_ beginning to creep over Yuuri’s movements as the morning drew to a close.

Christophe picked at his memory, skating idly around the clean-slate ice as teenagers and children and accompanying adults began to trickle in through the entrance way. He narrowed down that moment of change, when Yuuri had turned from a smooth coil of energy to a wilting version of himself. He had taken a break after nearly an hour and a half of enough sequences and jumps to make Christophe feel weary in sympathy – and stopped to speak with Theresa, and Celestino. When he returned to step into spin endurance, he was someone else entirely.

His spins had been ruthlessly fast, so fast that the outlines of his arms and torso seemed to blur – but the spins had also been somehow lifeless, and the morning had only worsened from thereon in.

Decision made, Christophe moved past a group of unsteady children easing themselves onto the ice for the first time. Suzie, Wally’s daughter both in blood and spirit, was manning the desk with a deadpan face that contrasted the preppy playlist echoing from the rink’s speakers.

“ _I think I'll join Yuuri in the studio_ ,” Christophe informed Celestino in rapid Italian, who had moved closer with a frown on his olive-tanned face. “ _I wanna work on my height, without worrying about the little ones underfoot_.”

“ _As you wish_ ,” Celestino said easily. “ _Ah - If you would – could you take this to Yuuri, and have him listen to the fourth playlist?”_ The man held out a battered iPod and auxiliary cord, to plug into the CD player in the studio. Christophe took it with no small amount of curiosity.

“ _What is it? The playlist, I mean._ ”

“ _Potential songs for his routines this year_.”

Christophe raised his eyebrows in surprise.

“ _You aren’t letting him choose his own? This seems a bit … heavy-handed for you.”_ Christophe had only been with Celestino for ten months but had known _of_ him for years, and this was the first he had heard Celestino taking such an active role in one of his skaters’ decisions.

Celestino sighed, uncharacteristically heavy.

“ _Normally, I_ would _encourage him to choose his own music. But we were speaking earlier, and he seemed so overwhelmed. I know that he gets nervous when he skates – I had a long talk with his previous coaches from Japan, before I offered them the contract – and I didn’t want to put any more pressure on him than necessary._ ” Celestino looked over Christophe’s shoulder, and he turned to see Theresa gliding their way. “ _I will be up in maybe half an hour - spend time with him, get him familiar with the music, okay?”_  

“ _Yes, coach_ ,” Christophe said as he finally tugged both of the skates from his feet. Celestino nodded and turned away to meet Theresa at the barrier. Christophe stood to walk through the reception in only his socks, smiling winningly at some of the girls as he passed them by on his way to the stairs.

The upbeat music of the public rink faded a little as he moved into the private corridor above, and then cut off entirely when he stepped into the studio room and closed the door behind him.

Yuuri was sitting on his heels in the centre of the room, head bowed as he scrolled through the phone in his lap. His face was still, and he looked calm for the first time since he had swung out of his last spin of the morning.

“Yuu-ri!” Christophe announced himself with a cheerful sing, and tried not to feel guilty when the other’s head spun about, and the calm look became startled alarm.

“Ch-Christophe!” Yuuri managed, giving the ‘r’ an adorable Japanese catch that made Christophe want to melt. “What are you doing here?”

“Ah, there are too many little feet on the ice to practice now, so I thought I would join you instead. If that is alright?” Christophe made sure to look as unassuming as possible.

“… Yes, it’s alright,” Yuuri said softly, and Christophe was quick to leave his bag by the door – his skates having been stowed in the locker room already – and walked silently over to sit beside Yuuri on the floor.

“What were you planning on working on up here all alone, then, hmm?” Christophe asked as he leant forward over his crossed legs and levelled one of his sultry looks on the younger skater. Yuuri predictably blushed, and Christophe couldn’t stop his smile from broadening a little. 

“I – am going to be doing more spins,” Yuuri stammered, holding up a blue skate spinner from beside his knee. The flat plastic was moulded to fit under the sneakers Yuuri was already wearing, and would give him the smooth grip he needed to spin against the wood of the floor just as he had against the ice earlier.

“Have you not spun enough today, Yuuri?” Christophe emphasised his pout. “Besides, I have come bearing gifts! Behold, Yuuri – Celestino’s own iPod! He has told me you must listen to the fourth playlist, and tell him which songs you want for your program.” If he hadn’t been watching so closely, Christophe would have missed the way Yuuri’s eyes widened, the way his lips shook just a little, and the way the hands in his lap tightened over the phone and skate spinner. Christophe’s own eyes narrowed a little. _Interesting_.

“Thank you, Christophe,” Yuuri finally said, and Christophe almost winced at how wooden he sounded.

“Can I plug this in?” he asked in lieu of chasing that sound, knowing instinctively that Yuuri would skitter away and evade any question at this point. Yuuri nodded shortly, and Chris crossed the room to the CD player. The fourth playlist was titled “skating 4: tradit/class”. Playing the first song without looking, Christophe went to turn back to Yuuri.

 _Canon in D_ ’s slow melody lulled about them, and Christophe and Yuuri’s faces pulled into tight grimaces almost simultaneously.

“Ugh, _no_ ,” Christophe launched back for the iPod. “Does he want you to put the audience to sleep? Please, Yuuri – you will not be dancing to this.” He clicked next.

 _Waltz of the Flowers_ was the next to grace the room, and the look of muted consternation Yuuri sent him almost made Christophe laugh.

“Do not give me that look, Yuuri!” Christophe knew that his voice was betraying his amusement. “I was not the one to choose this music!” _Waltz of the Flowers_ was a pretty song, yes, but he had lost count of the number of times he had sat through it over his years of competition. True, some skaters had performed wonderful routines to this music – but if Yuuri was anything like him, he was beyond sick of the song by this stage in his career.

Tchaikovsky’s _Swan Lake_ was next, and Christophe sighed through the opening notes.

“I think I am beginning to see a pattern, _topolino_ ,” he said ruefully. “Why is that Celestino thinks you would prefer the classics?”

Yuuri shuffled in place, turning the phone over in his lap.

“I’ve done ballet for – since I was very little,” he stumbled over the words. “Maybe he is trying to be familiar?”

“Ballet? Oh, no wonder you move so beautifully, Yuuri!” Christophe brightened in realisation, waiting for the blush – _there_. “You must be a magnificent dancer.”

“It’s nothing,” Yuuri mumbled, and then jumped a little when Christophe played the next song and _Carmen No. 1: Aragonaise_ ’s opening fanfare burst from the speakers.

“Hmm,” Christophe hummed in contemplation. Part of him was tempted to pull the auxiliary cord from the iPod, throw it across the room, and demand that Yuuri find his _own_ songs, ones that he felt in his bones, that moved with him instead of around him. But another part of him remembered that unusually solemn look on Celestino’s face, as he spoke of Yuuri’s nerves and his attempt to counteract them. He lowered the iPod to the bench, and took a careful seat beside Yuuri once more.

“Well, there are many songs in the playlist,” Christophe said with cheer that was only slightly forced. “Maybe you’ll find _the one_ soon, yes?”

Yuuri’s nod looked like it pained him. But Christophe said nothing.

When Celestino finally came to the room some forty minutes later, it was to find Yuuri spinning tightly on the blue plastic mould and Christophe standing before a stack of plastic jump-boxes, unmoving as he watched Yuuri’s face grow stiffer and harder with each turn of his arm, and each song that flowed from Celestino’s offering.

 _Yes_ , Christophe thought to himself as Celestino stepped in and began talking with broad gestures and loud exclamations. _Yes – there is something very wrong here. I need to figure out just what it is._

 

* * *

 [8:59pm]

 

Yuuri towelled his hair dry as he sat in the centre of his bed, laptop propped open on a pillow before him. Celestino’s iPod lay discarded behind him, and the sound of heavy rain washed in through the open windows. He had just finished dinner, another excellent dish prepared by Christophe, and the only light outside the house came from the lit neon sign of the _Arena_ across the road. If Yuuri focused hard enough, he imagined he could hear a subtle bass from the direction of the rink as the last of the skaters began to trickle out.

Any moment now.

Yuuri’s heart leapt when he saw a white and orange notification slide up from the lower corner of his screen. He jumped for the button, and was about to click when a familiar bubbly tone rose from the speakers, and a Skype call popped up in the centre of the screen.

He accepted, and a smile crept over his face as a pixelated image flickered into sight, slowly becoming clearer as the connection grew stronger.

“ _Yuuri!_ ”

“ _Yuuri-kun!_ ”

“ _Yuu-chan!_ ”

“ _Yuu-riiii!_ ”

Tears sprung to his eyes.

“ _Hi,_ ” he choked out in his native tongue. “ _Hi, everyone!_ ”

“ _Yuuri! We miss you!_ ” Mari’s voice was tinny across the Skype call, and her face looked boxy through the camera, but he could see her leaning down so that she could fit in the frame, along with-

“ _How’s America, Yuuri?”_ His father.

“ _Have you been eating well? Yuuri, you look pale! Toshiya, doesn’t he look pale? Yuuri, you need to look after yourself!_ ” His mother.

 _“How late is it there? Yuuri-kun, you look exhausted – you should be sleeping!_ ” Yuuko.

 _“Yuuri, how has Celestino been? Has he been working you to the ground?”_ Minako.

“ _Arf?_ ” And sitting between them all, face square to the centre of the screen – Vicchan.

Yuuri let out a wet, sobbing laugh, and pulled a pillow from beside him into his lap, wrapping his arms about it and propping his chin on top in a desperate hug.

“ _America is … it’s great, Dad,_ ” Yuuri managed with a smile. “ _I’ve been eating well, Mum – please don’t worry. It isn’t that late, Yuu-chan – Celestino has just been working me hard today, that’s all. And I … I miss you too.”_  

Vicchan was shuffling in place, his head turning in confusion. His paws dug into the cushions his family were kneeling upon, gathered around the edge of a low table, and when Yuuri’s voice finally came to a close, Vicchan let out a small, questioning _boof?_

Yuuri’s heart clenched.

“ _Vicchan?_ ” he called cautiously, and the brown poodle’s head whipped towards the camera, his tail beginning to wag hopefully behind him. “ _Vicchan, have you-”_ his voice caught in his throat. “ _Have you been a good boy while I’m away?_ ”

Vicchan’s tail was wagging faster and faster, and he jumped a little in place, disrupting Yuuri’s mother and father with startled shouts. The dog barked loudly, once, twice, and then began to leap forward. He would have crashed into the laptop, had Yuuri’s father not grabbed him and held him tight with both arms, anchoring him back to his lap.

“ _Yes, Vicchan – who’s that?_ ” Yuuri’s mother, Hiroko, asked over the sound of Vicchan’s increasingly excited yaps. “ _Is that Yuuri, Vicchan?_ ” Hiroko laughed as Vicchan continued to wiggle in place, trying desperately to get to where Yuuri’s voice had been coming from.

“ _Vicchan – Vicchan, please calm down!_ ” Yuuri tried to say in a soothing voice, his fingers digging further into the pillow. “ _I’m not – it’s just … my voice.”_

“ _I think he misses you, Yuuri_ ,” Mari said from behind the couch, grinning through the camera. “ _I haven’t seen him this excited in ages._ ”

“ _How … how have all of you been?_ ” Yuuri’s eyes were fixed to the brown smear that was Vicchan, but he needed to think of something else – anything else. His eyes were burning.

“ _The rink is going well,_ ” Yuuko started, leaning down beside Mari with a gentle smile. Yuuri caught a glimmer of light on her ring finger, and ignored it. “ _Takeshi’s father is looking at retiring soon, so Takeshi and I might be taking over sooner than we thought. Which is going to be hell with the triplets, really._ ”

“ _Where_ are _they, anyway?_ ” Yuuri asked – he couldn’t see their little black-tufted heads anywhere in the screen.

“ _Ah, Takeshi is watching them today,”_ Yuuko said with a smile. “ _They aren’t big enough for a trip to the inn just yet. But I’ll bring them along to show you as soon as they are, no doubt about it!_ ”

“ _Yuuuuuri, are you ignoring me?_ ” Minako-sensei cried from the other side of Mari. Yuuri couldn’t tell for sure, but he knew she would be pouting into the camera with a voice like that. “ _How has your training been? Have you skated yet? Landed any quads? What is it like, training with Celestino? Tell me!”_

“ _I’ve been skating today,”_ Yuuri said cautiously. “ _I haven’t … really had time to learn anything new, though. I’ve just been practicing my Salchow, and my spins. Celestino is still working on a training program for me. He wants me landing at least one quad before the competitions start.”_

“ _And how are you going with your choreography? You know that you can call me anytime if you want a bit of inspiration, right? How did Celestino like your theme for this year?”_ Minako continued eagerly.

Yuuri hesitated.

“ _I … um. I might be … changing my theme?”_ he said carefully.

“ _Whaaat? Yuuri, why? I love your theme, it’s adorable!_ ” Minako complained loudly, throwing herself against Hiroko's back and threatening to tip forward into her lap. Vicchan turned to pant against Minako's shoulder curiously, before returning to his struggles to reach Yuuri’s voice on the computer.

“ _Celestino gave me … some other songs to think about too? It’s fine, really! He already has some ideas for choreography and everything, so, I think I might use some of them instead?_ ” Yuuri was feeling less confident by the second, and was sure it showed.

Luckily, a distraction came at that moment in the form of a loud voice crooning in Italian as it slammed into the room and began to shimmy across the floor. Christophe was predictably shirtless, and had a pair of headphones leading from his ears to the phone in his hand. The camera of the laptop was pointed away, but Yuuri knew his family could hear every word as Christophe sang.

“ _Guarda mi vedi? Sono sempre qui … Io sono il toro e sono el ma-ta-dor._ ”

Yuuri opened his mouth to interrupt, but Christophe moved instead into a pose, arms spread wide as he began to belt the chorus with passion.

“ _Toro loco … hai quel fuoco … hai quel sole e le pa-ro-le! Come fare … cosa dire … devi solo farti ca-pi-re!_ ”

“ _Yuuri-kun?”_ Yuuko’s voice came from the laptop’s speakers. “ _Yuuri, what on earth is that? Are you okay?_ ”

“ _Ah … yes, Yuu-chan, I’m fine. That’s just my new … roommate,”_ Yuuri said weakly.

“ _Roommate?”_ Yuuri could barely hear Hiroko over the sound of Christophe’s enthusiastic voice. “Oh, y _ou didn’t tell us you were going to have a roommate, Yuuri! I thought Celestino had a house arranged for you and everything._ ”

“ _Ah, well … there are only three - well, two bedrooms, so …_ ”

“ _Well, who is he? He sounds European!_ ” Yuuko said eagerly. Christophe was now shuffling rhythmically around his bed, pulling clothes out as he found them and tossing them to a pile by the door. Yuuri still didn’t know how he was going to get his attention, but at least the singing had faded to a tolerable level now.

“ _His name is Christophe, uh – Christophe Giacometti, I don’t know if you-”_

 _“No! The Swiss skater? Oh my gosh, Yuuri!_ ” Yuuko interrupted, placing a hand on Mari’s shoulder as she jumped in place. “ _There’s no way you actually have_ Christophe Giacometti _as a roommate! You’re so lucky!”_

“ _You know him? Is he … famous, then?_ ” Yuuri eyed Christophe, who had thrown back the covers of his bed to reveal a loose dirty sock and the lace edge of a pair of feminine underwear, lost among the sheets.

“ _Famous? Yuuri, he’s only one of the best ten skaters in the world! He made the podium at the European Championships last year, he was in the top ten at the Winter Olympics,_ and _he was only ten points off podium at Worlds!”_ Yuuko said enthusiastically. “ _How can you not know who he is?”_

“ _Isn’t it obvious, Yuuko? It’s because he only has eyes for_ Viktor _,”_ Minako said teasingly across the couch, the two sharing a wicked smile as Yuuri spluttered.

“ _Shut up!”_ Yuuri stammered, glancing at Christophe nervously. “ _That’s not true! I just – I-”_

Minako and Yuuko giggled at him openly, and Mari was joining in, and his mother had the most indulgent look on her face, and his father likely had no idea what was going on, and Yuuri could only stare at them through the screen. Vicchan was sitting in the middle of it, no longer trying to wiggle free of Yuuri’s father’s hold, but instead barking softly and whumping his tail against the cushions at small intervals.

Yuuri buried his face in the pillow he was clutching, and let the sounds from the laptop flow around him.

“ _Yuuri? Yuuri, we’re only teasing!_ ” Minako placated, and Yuuri raised his eyes from the pillow, keeping his mouth and nose muffled in the fabric. “ _There you are.”_

“ _Do you have any plans for your week, Yuuri?_ ” Hiroko asked cheerfully, diverting the conversation from his embarrassment. “ _What are you eating for dinner? Oh, I wish you could have taken some of my lunches with you, I know you’re going to forget and end up going hungry! Yuuri-”_

Yuuri let the conversation wash over him, eyes following their movements as his family spoke and laughed together over ten thousand kilometres away. When it came time to say goodbye, he gave them a final teary wave and laughed wetly at Vicchan, who was slobbering messily on his father’s lap. The screen went dark with the sliding _gloop-thunk_ of Skype, and Yuuri stared at his own reflection for a long moment before slowly closing the laptop.

“Oh, are you finished now Yuuri?” Christophe’s voice startled him, and Yuuri quickly raised his face from where it had been resting on the pillow. Christophe was lying back on his bed, phone raised above him and headphones coiled on his bedside table. “Was that your family? I don't know a word of Japanese, but they _sound_ lovely.” Christophe paused for a long moment, before turning his head to look at Yuuri curiously. “Yuuri?”

Yuuri opened his mouth to reply, but to his horror, he felt a tear drip down his cheek instead. A sob tore out of his throat, and he immediately buried his face in the pillow once more.

“Yuuri!” Christophe cried, startled, and he burst up and across the room. Yuuri couldn’t stop himself. His throat burned as another hoarse cry broke out, and he felt the bed behind him dip as Christophe sat cautiously down. A warm hand settled on his shoulder, and Yuuri took a sharp, shaky breath in. “Yuuri, what’s wrong?”

Yuuri shook his head as he sobbed again, this time wetter and louder than the last. He was completely gone, with tears blurring his vision and his cheeks flushing hot, and his breaths were coming faster and faster, and he couldn’t stop-

“Yuuri – Yuuri, here-” Yuuri felt himself being manhandled, the pillow easing out of his grip as he was turned to press into Christophe’s chest. His arms came out of their own volition to wind around Christophe’s waist, and he felt arms settle around his shoulders in return, one hand brushing against the back of his head. “What is wrong, _topolino_?”

Yuuri gasped for breath.

“My – my, my …” he couldn’t finish. Yuuri shivered, feeling weak and hot and his throat was tightening, and he couldn’t _stop crying_. 

“Shh,” Christophe hushed him, rocking a little on the bed. Yuuri followed the movement, burying his face deeper into Christophe’s shoulder. “Please – maybe I can help?”

The heat in his chest rose, and Yuuri pulled back sharply, throwing a tight fist into the duvet in frustration.

“No – it’s … it’s just so – I don’t know _how-_ ”

“Yuuri – breathe!” Christophe looked startled, and it took Yuuri a moment to realise that it was because he was beginning to breathe quicker and faster, so fast he thought his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He closed his eyes and consciously tried to take a slow, deep breath. “Please, Yuuri, tell me what is wrong?”

“I … I miss my family,” Yuuri admitted brokenly, suddenly. Eyes still closed, Yuuri gripped the duvet harshly as he fought to control his breathing. “I miss Minako-sensei. I miss Vicchan. I can’t – it’s so different here. So big, and loud, and fast, and – and-” Yuuri gulped, and hoped that Christophe didn’t speak. He didn’t know if he could start again, if he were interrupted now. “And Celestino, he’s so – he’s so _much_ , I can’t – he, he thinks I can do a quad – a _quad_!” Yuuri let out a hoarse laugh. “And I don’t know if I _can,_ but I _have_ to – I have to do well, and I don’t know if I _can_ , and-”

“Oh, _topolino_ ,” Christophe murmured, but Yuuri wasn’t slowing down.

“-and he doesn’t … Christophe, he doesn’t,” Yuuri gasped for another breath. “He didn’t understand me, Christophe. He didn’t, he didn’t _listen_.”

“Listen?” Christophe’s voice focused just a little. “Yuuri, what do you mean?”

“He – when I was dancing in the – in the studio yesterday, I was telling him,” Yuuri broke off to scrub at his wet face tiredly. “I was telling him the reason why I skate,” he finally said in a harsh whisper. “But he wasn’t _listening_.”

“You were telling him … when you were _dancing_?” Christophe repeated slowly. He was still sitting before Yuuri, half-twisted on and off the bed, and Yuuri raised his head to meet the other’s eyes.

“Yes!” Yuuri cried. “I was – I was telling him about, about _Okaa-san_ , and about how words aren’t enough, and how she _looked_ when she saw me skate for the first time, and … I thought he understood.” Yuuri’s voice had fallen back to a coarse hush. “But today, he asked me – he asked me _why I skate_ , and then I knew, that …”

“That he _hadn’t_ understood you,” Christophe said quietly, and Yuuri nodded miserably.

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuuri said. “He didn’t _understand_. And – and I thought … what if nobody else, ever – what if _nobody_ understood me, what if I was just – just _dancing_ and no one was _seeing_ me, what if _Okaa-san-_ ” The thought horrified him, and he shied away from it. “And then – and then he gave me, he gave me this _playlist_ of songs, and – they aren’t _right_ , Christophe, none of them are!”

Yuuri’s eyes were wet again, and he felt raw and tired and everything _ached_.

“But most of all, I miss … I miss home,” Yuuri’s hoarse voice trailed off. He could feel his energy fading, and he buried his face in his hands before raking his fingers back into his still-damp hair. “I miss my _dog_ , I miss – I just – I’ve been away from home before. But not – not like _this_.”

Christophe sighed, and reached out to touch Yuuri’s arm gently. Yuuri jumped a little, but Christophe kept his hand there, strong and warm.

“Yuuri … it is hard to say goodbye to the people we love, no?” Christophe said gently. Yuuri didn’t respond, but he could feel the pressure in his throat burn hotter. His eyes were closed wetly, and he bit his lips inward between his teeth in an effort to control himself, to listen. “Yuuri, I know what this is like. My mother and father in Switzerland, they were not happy to see me leave. I have lived with them in the mountains all my life, but when my coach Joseph had his fall, I had no choice but to go. Celestino was the only one Joseph would trust with my training. It was the hardest decision I had ever made, _topolino_ , and I cried for days when I arrived. Detroit is … it is different, hmm?”

Yuuri gave a choked laugh.

“Yes!” he said loudly, before repeating, softer, “yes, it is! It’s so – big, and _flat_ , and … and _American_.”

Christophe laughed too, and then they were both laughing, Yuuri hanging his head and shaking a little, his breaths threatening to edge over into tears once more.

“Yuuri,” Christophe said when they had calmed a little. “Yuuri … this, Detroit – it is nothing like home, but I could go home in an instant if I wanted. You could, too! But there is something else, something more, yes? I want to be _here_ , too. I want to skate like I want to breathe. The feeling when I skate, when I step onto the ice … I hold onto that feeling like it is the only thing I have. It keeps me going, reminds me of why I ever came to this very strange place.”

Yuuri’s breath hitched, caught up in Christophe’s words. They were so familiar, and they stuck a chord inside him. He dragged a hand over his cheeks to scrape away the evidence of his crying.

“I skate because it brings me joy like nothing else does,” Christophe finished. His thumb traced back and forth on Yuuri’s arm, and Yuuri focused on the sensation, grounding himself. “So, Yuuri – why do _you_ skate?”

 _“Then, why_ do _you skate?”_ Celestino’s words echoed. Only this time, the words didn’t leave him breathless and horror-struck, mouth dry, fingers numb. This time they made Yuuri smile fondly, raising his head to meet Christophe’s eyes.

“I skate because … because I want to share … everything,” Yuuri said quietly. He felt like a still beach after a storm, calm but devastated with debris still scattered about, ready to be cleared away. “I want to tell the world everything inside me, and the only way I can … do that, is when I skate.” He remembered the way his mother had held him after his performance, his first season, his first _thank you_. Yuuri’s head was hot and aching, and his palms were sweaty, but it was a good ache, and he felt cleaner for it. “When I skate, everything is easy, and simple. And better.” Yuuri took a deep, slow breath. “And I want to feel like that forever.”

“And isn’t that reason enough to stay?” Christophe asked with a smile, and Yuuri let out a huffing laugh.

“Yeah,” he said in a strangled, but somehow happy voice. “Yes, it is.” Yuuri paused. “Thank you, Christophe.”

“Yuuri … if you ever feel like this again – please, you can come to me any time, okay?” Christophe said. He patted Yuuri’s arm gently and then pulled back. “I’ll help you however I can.”

Yuuri’s eyes burned too much for him to cry again, but he did nod weakly and sniff a little, and hum in acceptance. Christophe left the room quietly, and returned a minute later with a glass of cold water. The rain from outside was lighter, the ambience of the noise shifted from a pattering rush to a soft, wet hiss. The neon lights of the _Arena_ flickered off, and the night was thrown into shifting darkness.

“I think I have a solution for you,” Christophe said as he handed the glass to Yuuri, who had been sitting on the bed in quiet contemplation while he waited. Christophe sat as well, cross-legged and facing the tired Yuuri. “For your songs, and for your skating – for all of it.”

Yuuri took a sip that soothed his throat, and waited for Christophe to continue.

“You skate the most magnificently when you are skating for yourself – for words, for – for a story, yes?” Christophe was visibly struggling, but Yuuri could see that he understood, and he nodded cautiously. “The songs that Celestino has chosen for you – they do not speak for you, because you did not choose them. So what you need to do, is think about what it is you want to say, and then find the songs that express this. And if the songs don’t come from the playlist that Celestino has given you … then Yuuri, you _tell_ him!”

Yuuri shuddered.

“But – but he said that I was to choose from …?”

“He said this because he thought you would be nervous, Yuuri, and that he could help,” Christophe said pointedly. “Celestino has always preferred his skaters to choose their own music – and I know he would adore it if you were to do the same.”

Yuuri glanced over at the discarded iPod on the far side of the bed, and it didn’t fill him with the sense of dread that it had earlier. He nodded in acceptance.

“Now – all we need to do, is think of what you want to say,” Christophe continued with a sense of authority, and finality. “Almost like a theme, yes? Does this make sense to you?”

Yuuri opened his mouth a little, closed it, and then frowned in determination. _Say it._

“I – I already have … a theme.”

“What?”

“A theme – I, I already have one,” Yuuri said again, stronger than the barely-there whisper that Christophe had no doubt struggled to hear the first time. Saying it out loud now, when he hadn’t been able to earlier, felt like being punched in the stomach.

“You do? Yuuri, this is great! What _is_ your theme?” Christophe was smiling again, blindingly, and Yuuri felt himself becoming bolder in its light.

“I … this year, it will be my first year in the Senior levels,” Yuuri started with. He began to twist the blanket underneath between his hands. He looked down, and continued to speak. “So I thought, that this year … I would like to say _hello_.” Yuuri couldn’t help blushing – it sounded so silly when he said it like this. “Sort of … like an introduction. I want to say, that … I’m happy to be here, and that I’m looking forward to working with everyone.” His voice trailed off as he spoke, becoming softer and softer. When he raised his head once more, it was to find Christophe smiling at him fondly.

“Yuuri …” he said simply. “I think it’s perfect.”


	3. Introductions [Part 2]

“ _You need to talk to Celestino_ ,” Christophe had said that morning, as he shrugged on a tatty backpack and stepped into his shoes, ready to leave for a morning of study on campus. “ _He needs to know, Yuuri. You need to tell him what you told me._ ”

Well.

That was a _lot_ easier said than done.

 

 

* * *

 [Monday]

[May 3, 2010]

[9:04am]

 

The first time Yuuri tried to talk to Celestino, he was sitting in the viewing room of the _Arena_ , twisting his hands between his knees and feeling his face growing hotter and hotter as the words choked in his throat.

Celestino was working through the training regime he had planned for Yuuri, an eclectic mix of runs, jumps, endurance training, and squats, the mere thought of which made Yuuri’s thighs burn in anticipation. Yuuri was sitting across from him, sinking into an old armchair as confidence slipped away like sand through his fingers.

In the end, he worked himself into such a state that Celestino excused him for the morning, suggesting that he hadn’t full recovered from his flight. Yuuri left dejectedly, tilting his head back to stare at the sky as he returned to the house, and wondering why the words that had come so easily the night before seemed so impossible just now.

 

[1:05pm]

 

The second time Yuuri tried to talk to Celestino, they were crossing the carpark together on their way to begin the afternoon’s session.

Christophe was ahead of them, having returned from the local University and decided to join them in their afternoon. Celestino was chatting happily, running through the list of exercises and repetitions he wanted to work his two skaters through. Yuuri was trailing behind them both, hands tight around the towel and water bottle he was toting.

Christophe turned when they reached the door, and sent Yuuri an encouraging look while he ran to deactivate the security box. Yuuri lingered beside Celestino, and a pressure rose in his throat, the muscles tightening. He opened mouth, felt it quiver just a little, and then slowly closed it.

The three passed through into the rink, the lights flickering on.

Christophe met Yuuri’s eyes as they tied on their skates, raised his eyebrows and nodded to Celestino, and Yuuri could only lower his eyes, ashamed.

“Not yet,” Yuuri said softly, before standing and making his way to the rink. “But soon.”

If he told himself enough, maybe he could find the courage to do it.

 

[4:32pm]

 

The third time Yuuri tried to talk to Celestino, they were standing at the edge of the rink, watching as Christophe worked through the first fledgling steps of a sequence for the next season.

Celestino was standing on the ground, arms resting on the barrier, and Yuuri was beside him in his skates, his feet edging a little back and forth on the ice. Celestino’s eyes were watching Christophe move with his usual intensity, and Yuuri licked his lips dryly, unable to look. _Now. Do it now. Tell him_ now _._

Christophe finished another set of the shaky sequences, returning to the centre of the rink to begin again. Celestino was nodding absently. Yuuri suddenly became aware of his own heartbeat, quickening in his throat.

In a way, this time was the most cruel. Yuuri opened his mouth, summoned his voice, and the first note of the first word had deepened in his throat, when-

“Again, Christophe!” Celestino burst out. “Watch the free leg, watch the free leg! It is too tight – _allentarlo_ , Christophe!”

Yuuri jumped back, startled by the sudden voice. The noise in his throat instead became a nervous squeak, lost in the wake of his coach’s enthusiasm.

Yuuri skated across to the far side of the rink, and jumped like his life depended on it.

 

[8:49pm]

 

The fourth time Yuuri tried to speak to Celestino, Yuuri was sitting cross-legged on his bed, staring down at the phone in his hands.

The screen revealed Celestino’s contact, complete with a picture of the man posing with a generous thumbs-up in front of the _Arena’s_ lit sign. Yuuri’s own thumb hovered over the call button, shaking a little. The screen had gone dark three times already with his inactivity.

Yuuri took a breath, strengthened his thumb, bit his lip, raised the phone to his ear, and then-

Clicked the phone off with his index finger.

The phone was tossed across the bed, bouncing against the pillows while Yuuri threw himself forward and groaned into the mattress in defeat.

“You still have not told him, _topolino_?” Christophe murmured from where he was sitting at the desk, pen flicking over an open workbook. Yuuri groaned again, feeling the sound of protest rumble in his chest. Christophe sighed, and abandoned his study to turn in the swivel chair and appraise Yuuri. “This is hard for you, no?”

“Mmph,” Yuuri mumbled into the mattress, before sighing and raising his head to speak clearly. “I just … words are hard for me, you know? I can’t make them work. I get … anxious.”

“I know,” Christophe said, sympathetic. He straightened the thin-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, the ones he wore when he wasn’t skating. “Perhaps there is a solution. This is the not the first time you have had this problem, yes? What have you done before, when you could not tell someone how you felt with words?”

Yuuri’s eyes brightened a little.

“I skated,” he said simply. Yuuri raised himself up a little on the bed, and shifted so that he was sitting cross-legged. “I told them how I felt by skating. I – I could do the same here! If I … if I show Celestino the song I want, and show him how I feel when I skate it, then maybe he’ll … understand?”

It would be risky. It might not work. Celestino hadn’t _seen_ Yuuri’s intent when he danced in the studio on Saturday. He might not see Yuuri now, might not understand the meaning behind what he was doing.

Celestino might get angry, that Yuuri had chosen a song outside of the playlist he had all but ordered him to choose from.

But it was the closest thing Yuuri had to a solution, and he was _going to try_.

 

 

* * *

[Tuesday]

[May 4, 2010]

[12:32pm]

 

Practice the next afternoon was thick with anticipation. Yuuri greeted Celestino, moved into the rink, tied his skates, and began to move, and all of it felt like he was performing on a tightrope, with a net of flames waiting to catch him. His palms were sweaty from the moment he caught Celestino moving across the carpark, his knees weren’t working like they should be, his breath was catching in his throat every time he went to speak.

But Yuuri was determined.

He moved through the warms ups, through the first exercises prescribed by Celestino. He practiced his landings, his jumps, his spins, his steps. He threw his heart onto the ice as he moved, and by the time he took a break beside Celestino some hours later, the coach looked ecstatic at his energy and drive.

“Yuuri, Yuuri, this was fantastic! You are already landing _much_ smoother than yesterday, it is very good to see!” Celestino said proudly, and Yuuri took his water bottle silently, gathering himself. _Do it. Tell him._  

“I …”

“So, Yuuri-” Celestino hadn’t heard Yuuri’s timid voice, and began to speak instead, loudly, insistently. “Have you listened to the playlist yet? It has been two days, perhaps you have found some songs that you would like to focus on? Tell me, which do you prefer?”

Yuuri’s chest tightened, his heart fluttered, he almost dropped the bottle on the ice right then and there. _But I’m not ready!_

 _Tell him anyway_.

“I don’t …” Yuuri took a breath, swallowed quickly, and continued. “I don’t want … to choose a song from your playlist.”

“What?” Celestino sounded confused. He _looked_ confused, his eyebrows coming down in a quick frown. “Yuuri, what do you mean by this?”

“I meant that I … the music that I choose, it needs to be _me_ that chooses. Me. Because the songs, and my skating …” Yuuri clenched his free fist. _Why is this so_ hard _?_ “They need to be a part of … me?”

Celestino had been still at first, watching Yuuri quietly. But as Yuuri drew to a halting close, he slowly began to nod.

“Yes,” Celestino said slowly. “Yes, this is true. My playlist, Yuuri – was it, is it not suitable for you? I can find another, I have many lists that you can-”

“I have already chosen my short program!” Yuuri suddenly burst out. He dropped the water bottle to the wooden boards of the rink edge. He couldn’t look at Celestino, he _couldn’t_. “I’ve already – I’ve already chosen what I want to say!”

“What you want to _say_?” Celestino repeated quickly, questioningly.

“ _Yes_ ,” Yuuri said, strongly. “I want – when I skate, I want to say …”

Celestino’s eyes were burning into him, and Yuuri felt the words slip away again.

“Yuuri-ino,” Celestino said softly, gently. “If you have already chosen the song you wish to use – Yuuri, I am _glad_. The song _should_ be a part of you. It should come from within. Could you … would you show me the song?”

Yuuri let out a fast breath, and glanced at empty rink. He pictured himself skating there; pictured Celestino watching; pictured everything that could conceivably happen afterwards, good or bad. He wanted Celestino to _understand_ so much that his chest was hurting. His voice was nearly soundless when he spoke.

“Yes.”

He pulled his phone from the pocket of his training pants, and opened it to his skating tracks. Selecting the song he wanted, he carefully placed the phone next to the bottle on the boards, and for the first time that day looked Celestino dead in the eyes as he spoke.

“Watch me,” Yuuri said plainly. “Listen.”

With this, he pushed himself back across the ice and took a position a handful of metres away. He hadn’t spent long on this routine – he’d only found the song a bare month ago, just as his final year of school came to a close – and he’d barely had time to work on the choreography. But he knew what he _wanted_ it to be, could picture it in his mind like a half-finished map stretching around him. All he had left to do was fill in the blanks.

At his nod Celestino clicked play, and Yuuri left the first quick notes to hang on their own, before carefully throwing himself into a light dance across the ice. He raised his arms, wrists careful, and let his movements trace a handful of loops across the ice. A shift of an edge, a transition into a half-spin that he knew was rough without the smooth polish of practice. A curl of his torso, gentle and hesitant, before Yuuri began to spiral away again, feet flashing under the lights of the rink. Yuuri let the light, cheerful music dance around him, closing his eyes and losing himself in what little he had already prepared.

Words filled his mind, the words he wanted to say out loud, but couldn’t, and he could feel them mirrored in his movements.

 _Hi! It’s me, Yuuri. I can get a bit shy sometimes, but I’m still happy to be here_.

The music began to deepen, and Yuuri knew that if he had been skating his real short program, he would have been thrown into his first jump. Instead, Yuuri let his arms fall to his sides, and carefully came to a stop. The music continued to play, but Yuuri had exhausted his opening choreography, and knew better than to improvise to such quick, emotive music. Instead Yuuri slowly pushed back to Celestino, who had a hand on his chin as he surveyed Yuuri.

“This music … this is unlike anything you have chosen before, Yuuri-ino,” Celestino finally said, in a slow and thoughtful tone. “The mood, the emotion … it is different.”

Yuuri came to a stop before Celestino.

“I am saying something different, with this routine,” Yuuri finally said. And actually _speaking_ the words, saying them out loud, gave him a rush of adrenaline. “Last year I was – I was explaining why I skate. This time, I’m saying … hello.”

“You’re saying …” Celestino repeated slowly. “Yuuri – are you, do you …?”

“When I skate,” Yuuri’s voice was quiet. “When I skate, I am  _speaking_.” Yuuri had said these words before, but he had never said them like this, right after a performance, with his face bright in intensity and meaning.

If Yuuri were asked to describe the way Celestino’s eyes changed in that moment, he would describe it as a ballerina unfolding from a knot on the ground, arms and legs straightening and strengthening, face turning to the lights above the stage. _Understanding_.

“Of course,” Celestino muttered. His face began to shift with remembrance, realisation, excitement, inspiration. “Of course, Yuuri-ino, of course, of _course!_ You are saying – of _course_ you are saying – why did I not – oh, Yuuri-”

Something changed, then. Something that made Yuuri feel excited and giddy all at once, and suddenly he couldn’t stop smiling. The song began again on repeat, the peaky guitar matching the light in his and Celestino’s eyes.

“You are saying _hello_?” Celestino asked excitedly, loudly. “For the Senior tracks? And the song – the movements – this is how you – oh, it makes so much _sense_.” His words were tripping over each other, and Yuuri was having trouble keeping up. “And last year – _why_ you skate, oh, I should have seen it. The curl – yes, the hope, the realisation – I can see it now, Yuuri, how _amazing_. And – oh – oh, of course you choose your own music, of course. And I suppose you will be wanting to choreograph your own routines, too, Yuuri,” Celestino interrupted his own stream of words with the startled realisation, and Yuuri finally found a pause to speak into.

“No, no, I don’t – I mean, one of my previous coaches, Minako-sensei, she did help me with my choreography, sometimes,” Yuuri said with an uncertain half-shrug of his shoulder. “I’m not always good at … translating what I want into my skating, or dancing. It’s … part of the reason why I want to study dance, at university.”

“Of course,” Celestino said for the nth time that day. “Oh, so much is making sense, Yuuri-ino. I had been concerned – I know that dance is a taxing degree, very physically demanding – but if this is for your skating, for your inspiration, no … no, I think it would be very good for you to do so!”

A brief thrill of alarm danced through Yuuri – _he had been thinking of stopping me from taking dance?_ – but it quickly passed when he remembered that Celestino no longer thought this way. Instead, Yuuri nodded in agreement, a small and relieved smile on his lips.

“Now – I know that for the rest of today, I had planned on practicing your timing, but … perhaps this can wait,” Celestino waved a dismissive hand. “For now – you _must_ show me this choreography again. I think this routine will be beautiful when we have finished Yuuri, simply beautiful.” Celestino paused, hesitant. “Do you - have you found a longer song, for your free program yet?”

“No,” Yuuri admitted truthfully. Celestino’s playlist had effectively brought a halt to his search, leaving Yuuri paralysed at the thought of choosing outside of his coach’s given songs.

“Would you like me to help?” Celestino sounded almost cautious, and it was so different from how he had approached the topic before, with his playlist of uncompromising songs.

“I … I don’t know,” Yuuri said quietly, truthfully. “The music, it needs to … I mean, I already know what I _want_. I want to tell them who I am, and how happy I am to be here. I haven’t found it, but … something that is a little fast, but slow in places … excited, but unsure?”

“Mmm … this is already very much like the song you have chosen for the short program, no?” Celestino said, folding his arms and stroking his lower lip thoughtfully. “I have noticed that in your previous seasons, your two programs will have a very similar feeling. It is good to have a common theme, _absolutely_ , but ... sometimes a contrast between the short and free programs is welcome, as well? Perhaps there is more than one way to say hello, Yuuri-ino,” Celestino finished.

Yuuri paused to think the proposal through, and then cautiously began to nod in agreement. He could see Celestino’s point – after all, you didn’t repeat yourself when saying hello for the first time, did you?

“Yes – perhaps, this first piece – you are … how would I say this. You are introducing yourself, yes? But your free program, it could be a goodbye? You have met, and now you must leave. But you will be back again later,” Celestino offered.

“I think – I will think about it,” Yuuri said after a small pause. The idea had merit, and the more Yuuri thought about it, the more he liked it. But he wanted to be _sure_. This was going to be him speaking to his fellow skaters, at their level for the first time in his life. It needed to be _perfect_.

“That is all I will ask for,” Celestino smiled. “I will not choose your song for you, Yuuri. But I will always help you however I can.”

Yuuri was having trouble breathing, and it took him a moment to realise that it was because he had gone lax in pure relief. _He isn’t angry. He doesn’t hate me. He … understands._

“For now, I think we shall work with what we have!” Celestino announced, before gesturing to the ice broadly. “Again, Yuuri-ino! And this time, watch your transition into this first spin, I know you can do better than that!”

Yuuri surprised himself by laughing a little at the admonishment, remembering that he had chastised himself during the routine for the same thing. He returned to his starting position, and waited for the last few notes of the song to play out before beginning again.

This time when he moved it was with a loose and smiling face, arms that were graceful in their surety, and with a sense of self that beckoned through the movements, pulling Yuuri home.

 _Hi! This is me, Yuuri. I can be a little shy sometimes, but right now? I’m_ so happy _to be here_.

 

* * *

 [4:49pm]

 

The evening came faster than it ever had before. Before Yuuri knew it he was being ushered off the ice so that Wally could smooth his efforts over. A red-faced manager was dropping bags and hockey sticks on the seats of the rink while a sprawl of teenagers jeered and knocked their padded shoulders around him.

“You did well today, Yuuri-ino,” Celestino said, sitting on a bench while Yuuri was cross-legged on the ground beside him, pulling his skates off and beginning to stretch out his sore muscles. “I think … yes, I think you have made a lot of progress today. Both of us have.”

Yuuri ducked his head down to where he was flattening his knees, frog-leg style, and smiled.

“Thank you,” he said quietly. “For what you said, and also for listening. Watching.”

Celestino gently clapped a hand over Yuuri’s shoulder, who was startled a little but didn’t jump as high as he knew he would have the day before.

“You have a beautiful gift, Yuuri,” Celestino said, his voice thick with sincerity. “I am sorry I was not able to see it before. I don’t think I have ever coached a skater like you, but I am very much looking forward to doing so. _Si?_ ”

Yuuri’s eyes felt a little damp.

“Thank you,” he repeated, and this time the words were choked with emotion. Of all the scenarios Yuuri had imagined, of all the ways this had played out in his head, this – the reality – was the best of them all.

Celestino coughed brusquely, rolled his shoulders as if to reset them, and stood.

“Here-” Celestino said, gesturing for Yuuri to offer him his leg. Yuuri did so, and Celestino carefully lifted the leg so that it was bent, the calf parallel to the floor. Yuuri pressed against the hand, and felt the tight burn of his muscles stretching against his coach’s hold. “Your feet look bruised, Yuuri – make an ice bucket tonight, soak them to relieve the pain. I will know if you do not, and I will be displeased, okay?”

“Yes, coach,” Yuuri said obediently, dropping his leg and letting Celestino help him stretch out the other as well.

“As for your training in the coming days – I had planned to begin conditioning for the quad toe loop, but I think I will rearrange our schedule just a little. We shall spend the first half of our time on your short program, now that you have decided on the song you want to use. The second half shall be spent in the studio, building up the muscles and mobility you will need for the first quad. Is this acceptable?” Celestino was lowering Yuuri’s leg before moving around behind him, to take Yuuri’s arm and pull it gently back with a knee propped into Yuuri’s shoulder blades for leverage.

“Y-Yes,” Yuuri said, gritting his teeth a little against the pressure, but letting it happen all the same. He could feel his muscles loosening, and sighed in relief as the stretch was released.

“Good,” Celestino moved for the other arm. Behind them, the hockey players shouted and laughed as they began to move onto the ice, and the sound of pucks clicking against sticks before scraping across the ice soon began to echo about the room. “There,” Celestino released the arm with a small grunt, and Yuuri was quick to fold forward and shake out the remaining tension. “Now, remember the ice bath. Add a tablespoon of salt if you wish, but you _must_ drain the water after twenty minutes. I need your feet to be healed, not frost-bitten.”

Yuuri surprised himself with a small giggle, but stood on his admittedly aching feet and nodded.

“I’ll be careful,” he said as he gathered his skates and belongings. Celestino immediately plucked the skates off him.

“I will take these to your locker – _you_ , go home and soak, and rest,” Celestino informed him as they began to move into the reception area. “Tomorrow morning, ten o’clock sharp, okay?” Yuuri nodded, and Celestino parted from him to take the stairs to the upper level. “ _Ciao ciao_ , Yuuri!”

Feeling bold, Yuuri smiled and returned “ _ciao ciao!_ ” in what was no doubt a terrible accent. It was worth it for the way Celestino laughed kindly, before he waved over his shoulder as he vanished into the upstairs corridor.

The walk back to the house was a little tender, as Yuuri had opted to remain in socks with his sneakers still nestled in his training bag. But despite the aching pain, Yuuri found that he was smiling, broadly, and that he couldn’t stop.

_He watched. He listened. He understands._

There was no greater feeling in the world.

 

* * *

[5:01pm] 

 

Yuuri upturned a plastic mould over the water-filled bucket, tipping the last of the ice cubes out, before placing the empty tray on the low table beside the couch. Peeling away his socks revealed feet littered with red sores, small toes that were just about rubbed raw, and ankles that rang a little from their impact against the landings. _This is going to hurt._

Bracing himself, Yuuri slid his feet into the chill-cold water, hissing as he went. _Oh, Kami-sama, Kami-sama, Kami-sama_ …

Yuuri puffed his cheeks as he huffed against the _cold_ water lapping at his ankles, slowly beginning to ease away the pain of the day’s skating.

Propping his laptop open on his lap while his feet soaked, Yuuri opened Skype and was relieved to see that Minako's icon was lit green.

_Connecting …_

_Connecting …_

“ _Hmm?_ _Yuuri? What on earth – why are you calling so, damned-”_ Minako paused for a jaw-cracking yawn, rubbing at her red eyes. Her hair was pulled into a messy bun, and behind her Yuuri could see the chaos of her living room. “ _Why are you calling so_ early _?”_

Yuuri felt mortified.

“ _Oh – I’m so sorry! I forgot – I completely forgot that it would be morning there!_ ” Yuuri gasped, almost jerking his feet from the bucket in his panic. “ _I’m sorry – I’ll just-”_

“ _Nope – Yuuri, I’m already awake, now you’ve gotta see it through. What is it? It’d better be good,_ ” Minako was a mess. Her voice was croaky, the rims of her eyes dark with smudged eyeliner.

“ _I … I talked to my coach,_ ” Yuuri decided he may as well carry through. His feet were beginning to feel numb, to his relief. “ _He … well, long story short – I’m sticking with my theme!_ ”

“ _That’s great, Yuuri_ ,” Minako slurred. “ _Why … why did you need to call me?_ ”

“ _I just really felt like telling someone,_ ” Yuuri said, becoming less embarrassed and more amused as the conversation moved on. He could see empty cans and bottles in the background, and was beginning to suspect that Minako had been celebrating her Friday night a little too hard. “ _I’m sorry for calling – I’ll check before, next time_.”

“ _Mmph, no Yuuri – you can call any time, oka-ay?”_ Minako's voice was becoming harder and harder to comprehend. “ _M’always here for you, Yuuri-chan._ ”

Yuuri was struck by a wave of affection, and he smiled bashfully.

“ _Thank you, Minako-sensei. That really … means a lot to me_ ,” Yuuri said, and Minako gave a grumble of acknowledgement before propping her head on her arm.

“ _Now – Yuuri, can I_ please _go back to bed? There are two of you,_ ” Minako said with a groan, and Yuuri was quick to agree.

“ _Of course, Minako-sensei. Thank you for answering, and for … everything_.” Yuuri raised a hand to wave goodbye, and Minako's hand also slipped out from her chin to wave jerkily, before the connection went dark.

Yuuri gave a small laugh, feeling it bubble from his stomach, through his chest, and up his throat before he could contain it.

He felt lighter than air.

Just then, the door to the house opened, and Christophe’s voice called form the kitchen.

“Yuuri! _Yuuri!_ I’m ho-ome!”

“Welcome home, Christophe,” Yuuri called back, closing the lid of the laptop and leaning his head back against the couch so that he could look through the door to the hallway.

“You sound happy,” Christophe said as he walked through, dropping his backpack on the staircase before sinking into _his_ armchair and toeing off his sneakers. “I take it that you have spoken to Celestino, then?”

“Yes,” Yuuri beamed, and his feet moved a little as he sat up a little straighter, sloshing the water around. “He understands, and _gets_ it, and he’s going to let me do the dancing program at Wayne State, to help me choose my choreography better, and he gave me advice on how – on how to choose my music, and it’s … it’s _really_ great.” Yuuri knew that his words had begun slurring together, his accent a little thicker in his excitement – but there was so _much_ inside him, he was rushing to get it out.

Christophe was smiling at him fondly from where he was reclining, legs kicked over the arm of the chair.

“I’m happy for you, Yuuri,” Christophe said simply. “I’m glad you’ve managed to tell him. I know that it was hard for you.”

“Mm,” Yuuri nodded in agreement, no longer bitter or shy about how anxious he had been to share this part of himself with his coach. His nerves of the last two days seemed like a lifetime ago. “How was your last exam?”

“Ugh,” was all Christophe managed, his head tipping backwards as he became limp in exaggerated despair. “Yuuri, it was horrifying. Why does the universe hate me so much? Greek literature is actually the devil,  _topolino_ , I failed, I know I did. Please kill me before my parents find out.”

Yuuri’s mouth twitched in amusement, and Christophe moved on to lament over the state of that afternoon’s exam. His arms moved wildly as he spoke, weaving a dramatic retelling of the rush to get to the hall in time, the hell-spawn supervisor set to watch over him, the difficulty of the questions, the rambling of his answers. By the time he was finished, Yuuri had pulled his feet from the bucket and carefully wiped them dry on a fluffy white towel, before tucking the abused limbs underneath himself for warmth.

He felt comfortable here – not just in the living room, but in the house, in Detroit – for the first time since he had left Japan. He might not have his family or the comfortingly familiar scenery of Hasetsu, but he had Christophe, and Celestino, and they understood him now.

That evening, Yuuri finally came to see that Detroit could be every inch his home as Hasetsu had been, and the dread he had been expecting had given way to contentment as he watched Christophe speak and speak and speak until his voice grew hoarse, and the shadows of sunset had long passed through the room in shades of yellow, and red, and deep, deep purple.

 

* * *

[Friday]

[May 7, 2010]

[6:34pm]

 

“ _Yuuri!_ ”

“ _Gah!_ ” Yuuri almost fell of his bed in surprise as the door to the bedroom slammed open, and Christophe fell through in a mass of colour and flailing limbs. “Christophe – what-?”

“Yuuri, I passed! I'm _free_!” Christophe cried, throwing his backpack onto his bed. Instead of falling down in a fit of exhaustion as Yuuri expected, Christophe then turned to the chest of drawers and began hunting through, throwing items of clothing about in his search. “And _you_ are coming with me tonight, _topolino_ , I don’t care what you have to say about it!”

“Going … with you?” Yuuri blinked, setting down the novel he had been working through quietly. “Where?”

“My friend Cameron is having an end-of-exams party,” Christophe informed Yuuri as he finally pulled out a deep green t-shirt that he had apparently been looking for. “I am going to get gloriously drunk, Yuuri, and _you_ are going to help me.”

“Drunk?” Yuuri felt as though he had missed half a conversation, and was desperately trying to catch up. “But I don’t – I mean, I haven’t-”

“Yuuri, don't worry - I will not ask you to drink anything that you do not want to drink,” Christophe said in a rolling, smooth tone as he pulled off his singlet and button-down, and eased into the green shirt instead. Yuuri didn’t blink at the temporary nudity, although his cheeks did flush a little. “But I could not bear the thought of you sitting here alone while I am having fun, so you must come with me! I will pout if you do not, Yuuri, and you will be devastated.”

“I … but-” Yuuri fingered the edges of the novel, and scrambled for an excuse.

“No – no buts, _mio_ _topolino_. Get dressed!” With this, Christophe started hunting through Yuuri’s drawers, and Yuuri scrambled off the bed with surprising speed.

“No – wait, Christophe, you can’t-!” Yuuri snatched Christophe’s hands away from his neat piles of clothes. “If I – If I agree to come, will you let me choose what I’m going to wear for myself?” _Careful,_ Yuuri thought to himself, trying to balance the tone of his protest to seem less urgent. _You don’t want to seem_ too _desperate_.

“Of course!” Christophe drew his hands away from Yuuri’s drawers, and Yuuri carefully hid a sigh of relief. “But a promise is a promise, _topolino_ , and you have to come now!” Christophe walked over to the bed now, fishing a can of deodorant from the bedside drawer and spritzing enough under and around his shirt to make Yuuri cough at the fumes.

“Where are we going?” Yuuri resigned himself to the night ahead, and pulled out jeans and a long-sleeved maroon shirt to replace the casual sweatpants and singlet he was currently wearing. He adjusted the clothes remaining in the drawer carefully, before sliding the drawer shut.

“Ah, Cameron flats with some other students closer to the city,” Christophe said as he ran fingers through his hair and ducked to find his reflection in the mirror hanging beside the door. “I _would_ borrow Celestino’s car, but I do not think I will be in a condition to drive us home. I want to be comatose, Yuuri. I want to forget everything I’ve ever known about Classical Greece.” He started rummaging around the bedside table, before throwing up his arms in defeat. “Have you seen my lip balm, Yuuri? I cannot leave this house without lip balm. My lips will chafe, and I cannot be seen in such a way. _Where_ -?”

Yuuri paused in pulling his shirt off to blink over at the desk, where he remembered seeing Christophe throw the small pot the night before, and eyed the balm that was nestled innocuously between a pile of books and Christophe’s sleeping computer.

“It – it’s-”

“Ah! Here!” Christophe lurched for the balm, and Yuuri shifted out of the way to avoid the flailing chaos of limbs. Yuuri felt awkward getting changed in front of Christophe, but the other skater was facing the other way, completely engrossed in unscrewing the little cylinder, so he quickly threw on the new shirt and ducked around the far side of the bed to step out of the sweatpants and into his dark jeans.

Christophe was rubbing his middle finger over his lips, leaving them glossy with the balm, before turning with a grin and to run his eyes over Yuuri approvingly. “Very nice! Now, Yuuri – let’s go!” He reached out to grab Yuuri’s wrist and pull him up, and Yuuri barely had the chance to grab his phone before he was being pulled down the staircase, through the kitchen, and out into the chill of evening Detroit.

“If – if we aren’t driving, how will we get there?” Yuuri asked as Christophe kicked the locked door behind them. Yuuri hoped that Christophe had remembered their keys, as his were still sitting on his bedside table.

“Cameron is waiting for us,” Christophe said, still holding onto Yuuri’s wrist. The sky was darkening into streaks of pink and violet, and Yuuri shivered a little against the evening air. They walked a small distance down the side road, towards the busier main road they were branched off. The carpark to the _Arena_ was half-full, and Yuuri could hear muffled music from the distant open door to the reception area. “See?”

Yuuri found himself confronted with a navy-blue pickup truck that seemed excessively large, especially compared to the economic, compact cars that filled Hasetsu’s roads. The windows were rolled down, revealing a tall, pale man in the driver’s seat, and a freckled young woman in the passenger seat beside him.

“Christophe!” the man called out in a local accent. “You took your sweet time. Is this your new roommate? Yuuri, right?” Yuuri almost winced at the pronunciation of his name in the unfamiliar Michigan accent.

“Yes, this is Yuuri,” Christophe confirmed, opening the back door and climbing in, pulling Yuuri along behind him. Yuuri was immediately struck by the cloying smell of aging fast food, with an undercurrent of something earthy. “This is Cameron and his girlfriend Cassie. I know Cameron from class, and Cassie does – what is it now?”

“Criminology,” Cassie said, her voice echoing the same accent as Cameron’s had. “But I dunno, it’s kind of shit. I’m thinking of going back to philosophy again.”

“You cannot change your major every time you have a bad exam, Cassie,” Christophe scoffed. The car lurched forward a little, and Yuuri rushed to find the seatbelt. As he fished the buckle out he made the mistake of glancing down to see a handful of old, stiff fries scattered in the folds of the seat. “This is, what – your fifth change?”

“Fourth,” Cassie corrected, slumping into the seat and propping her feet on the dashboard. “I didn’t _actually_ end up officially doing psych.”

Christophe turned to Yuuri with a grin.

“Cassie is a bit of a mess, as you can see Yuuri,” Christophe laughed, while Cassie wound an arm through the gap of the seats and tried to swat Christophe in retaliation.

“So what are _you_ studying, Yuuri?” Cameron interrupting the two as he threw the car into a corner, flattening Yuuri against the door. Christophe and Cassie merely leant into the curve, apparently used to Cameron’s driving.

“I’m – uh, I’m going to be starting dance,” Yuuri stammered. “In August.”

“Dance?” Cassie said in a surprised tone. “Oh, you’re a skater like Chris then?”

“Y-Yeah,” Yuuri’s shoulders hunched up a little.

“This is his first year in the Seniors,” Christophe said proudly, winding an arm around Yuuri’s shoulders. “You should look out for him on the TV, he’s going to be fantastic!”

“Christophe,” Yuuri protested weakly, but Cameron and Cassie were already laughing and moving on to other topics, and Yuuri felt too shy and out of place to do anything other than let them talk, hunching further and further into himself in the corner of the car.

The house they soon pulled up to was larger than his and Christophe’s, with fairy lights strung over the porch and upstairs balconies, and a handful of cars parked haphazardly over the driveway, grass, and the edge of the road.

“It’s the last weekend before everyone fucks off for summer break,” Cameron said as the pickup truck lurched into a spare slot of lawn between a sawn-off tree stump and an old half-rusted sedan. “It’s not _crazy_ crazy, but there’s like, a few more people than normal. Is that cool?”

“You know me, Cameron, I don’t care how many people there are, so long as I cannot remember any of them by the time I heave,” Christophe said, throwing Yuuri’s door open and clamouring over him on his way out. 

Yuuri was slow to follow, cautious as he took in the sights and the sounds around him. He had seen a lot of American movies over the years, usually during his long international flights in an attempt to distract himself. He could recognise the beginnings of a party when he saw one. He knew what to expect.

Except, as it turned out – maybe he didn’t.

The door to the house was already open, revealing a small, completely empty hallway. Cameron and Cassie had already moved forward into the lounge, and Christophe was quick to follow, with an awkward Yuuri trailing behind him.

“ _He-ey!_ ”

“Christophe!”

“Hey, Chris!”

“Still breathing, huh?”

A small chorus burst from the dozen or so young adults sitting about the sparsely decorated room. They were arranged in a lopsided circle on various mismatched furniture, and more than half of them had a glass bottle within their reach, bringing the bitter scent of beer to the room. The couch, armchair, beanbag, and what Yuuri suspected was a futon, were all arranged to face the only luxury in the room – the flat screen TV mounted on its own delivery box against the far wall, with some action movie playing quietly in the background. In the centre of the room was a low, flat table covered in cards, half-empty glasses, and a pile of phones and keys.

“And who’s this?” one of the closer young men asked from where he was sitting at the end of the couch, his knees sprawling wide, and his own beer handing from one hand between his thighs.

“My roommate Yuuri!” Christophe announced, pulling Yuuri forward and throwing his other arm up in a dramatic gesture. “And he is here to help me get drunk! Welcome, Yuuri!”

The room gave a small cheer of _welcome_ s, some of them raising their glasses to nod in his direction. Cameron and Cassie had moved into the room fully by this point, and grabbed their own beers from an ice-filled bucket in the corner before sitting on the floor beside the television, falling into conversation with the others beside them.

“Come Yuuri, I need a _drink_ ,” Christophe moaned, pulling Yuuri down. Christophe sat with his back against the edge of the armchair, while Yuuri knelt gingerly between Christophe and the nearer edge of the couch.

“So, Yuuri,” the man who had spoken earlier drawled, dragging Yuuri’s name into the nasal tone that he had resigned himself to. “What is that, Japanese?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said softly. Christophe was busying himself over the table, pulling a bottle of clear liquid out from the basket-like drawer underneath it.

“Nice. I’m Thomas, by the way,” Thomas shifted his beer into his other hand, and extended his fingers for a shake. Yuuri took the offering cautiously, and tried to hide his discomfort at the fingers that were cold from the beer bottle.

“It’s – It’s nice to meet you,” Yuuri managed. The room was beginning to get louder, with conversations opening up between pairs and groups and across the room. The television was a soft noise in the corner, but someone else had pulled a set of speakers from their bag and hooked it into their phone, starting a somewhat louder backdrop of hip-hop and rap. Two girls in that corner – one of which he recognised as Cassie – tried singing along, and their friends on either side were laughing ridiculously at the noise.

“You look nervous,” Thomas said bluntly, and Yuuri jerked his attention back, before ducking his head in embarrassment. “Nah, hey – don’t worry about it, it’s your first time in America, right? It must be really weird for you.”

“A bit,” Yuuri confirmed. Christophe was pouring something out into a tall glass cup, and topping it up from a plastic Coke bottle. “But – But I have travelled before.”

“Nice, where have you been?”

“Uh … Europe? Canada … China …” Yuuri could feel himself blanking, and tightened his shoulders yet again. A burst of laughter erupted to his right, where a trio of guys were watching the TV and snorting out comments as the protagonists performed increasingly improbable acts. Yuuri pulled his sleeves down over his hands, and gripped the fabric tightly. _Christophe …_

“Sweet. I’ve only been around the States, my brother and I did a road trip between high school and college, but it was fucking _awesome_ , man,” Thomas said emphatically. Yuuri tried to scramble for a response – _what should I say, what should I say, I don’t know anything about road trips_ – but then a hand settled over his shoulder, and Yuuri looked around at his returning roommate with relief.  

“Yuuri, you have met Thomas?” Christophe said, sitting back beside Yuuri and pausing to take a generous gulp from the cup in his hand. “Thomas is from engineering – you’re in your third year, right?”

“Yup, that’s right,” Thomas confirmed, taking a sip of his beer. “Only one year to go.”

“Ah, I wish I only had one year left,” Christophe bemoaned. “Being part time drags it out so _much_.”

The two fell into a conversation about their courses, whining and laughing and sharing anecdotes of their lectures. Yuuri could feel himself shrinking between them, wondering more and more why Christophe had invited him, and feeling more and more out of place.

“Yuuri,” his thoughts were interrupted by Christophe’s arm swinging about his shoulders, and Yuuri couldn’t stop himself was jumping a little. “Yuuri, you look bored. Would you like something to drink?”

“I – no, I don’t-” Yuuri had never been more keenly aware of how very underage he was.

“No – it is fine, _topolino_ , but if you do want something, please ask, okay? I want you to have _fun_. We have beer, wine – Katie has a bottle of peach vodka, and I know Cameron has rum somewhere if you’d prefer. Or, you can just have tap water,” Christophe finished with a laugh.

Yuuri felt flustered, but managed to stutter out,

“Uh – water, just – water, please, Christophe.”

“Sure, come on!” Christophe stood, an unknown drink in one hand and Yuuri in the other, pulling him towards the archway that opened in to the kitchen. Behind them, Thomas fell back into a conversation with the others on the couch, and their laughter echoed into the kitchen behind them.

Christophe was moving towards a battered wooden cabinet, taking long sips from his cup as he went.

“Are you alright, Yuuri? You looked overwhelmed in there,” Christophe said, opening the cabinet and picking out one of the many chipped, mismatched glasses.

“I – it’s, uh,” Yuuri slowly sank into one of the high stools gathered around the island counter. “It’s a bit … different to, everything. I guess.” Music and voices and laughter, and that faint constant smell of alcohol.

Yes, it was different to everything he had expected.

The movies had prepared him for a raging party, a small mansion decorated in fragile ornaments, rooms filled shoulder-to-shoulder with beautiful twenty-somethings, and everyone clutching red plastic cups as they danced to some DJ hosting all the popular music. Instead, Yuuri found himself in a depressingly barren home with fourteen strangers and the low undercurrent of constant conversation. It _was_ overwhelming. Yuuri didn’t know how to deal with it.

“Hmm. Look, I said I wouldn’t force you, and I won’t,” Christophe handed the glass of tap water to Yuuri, who held it in both hands as he took a sip. “But alcohol is the best social lubricant there is. Really, Yuuri – it relaxes you, makes it easier for you to talk, to enjoy yourself.”

“But I’m underage,” Yuuri protested in a weak voice.

“Well, over here – so am I!” Christophe said cheerily, before knocking the rest of his mystery glass back and coughing a little, cheeks beginning to flush. Yuuri looked at the dredges of dark liquid that clung to the sides of the glass.

“What – what was that?” Yuuri almost didn’t want to know.

“Ah – a bit of everything, really,” Christophe dropped the glass to the counter and began digging around under the sink, pulling out even more bottles that Yuuri couldn’t recognise. “Bit of rum, bit of vodka … at this point, I don’t really _care_ how it tastes. Look.” Christophe set two bottles on the counter. “I’ll pour you this, okay? You don’t have to drink it, if you don’t like it. But it’s here for you to try, if you want?”

Yuuri the stared down at the mixture Christophe was concocting, and felt his fingers twitch against the glass of cool water.

 _My problem_ , Yuuri thought to himself ruefully, _is that I am far too curious._

Christophe slid the glass across the counter, now filled with a light pink mixture that hissed slightly as tiny bubbles popped at the surface. Yuuri held the water a moment longer before slowly exchanging glasses, feeling the fizz of the liquid through his hand.  

“If you want to leave early, just find Cameron – he'll take you home, okay?” Christophe said, before making a similar glass for himself. “I’ll be in the lounge, come and join me whenever you feel ready.” Christophe touched Yuuri’s shoulder gently, before leaving the room and rejoining the party.

Yuuri stared down at the pink bubbles, and then up at the wood-and-white-washed kitchen. There were no pictures, no adornments, not even any appliances on the counters – only a rusty stove, and a huge blocky fridge with a single magnet. The noise from the living room continued to ebb and flow, and through the windows of the kitchen, Yuuri watched as twilight darkened into night.

 _What do I have to lose_ , he finally thought, taking a deep breath and bringing the glass to his lips.

It tasted nice. Sweet, and sharp. It tickled his throat the first time he swallowed, and a heat rose at the base of his neck. Yuuri took another sip, and then stood carefully.

He returned to the others and sat quietly beside Christophe, who was now talking animatedly with Cameron by the flickering television. He continued to sip, continued to feel the heat in his throat and chest, and slowly, slowly, felt the tension in his shoulders fade.

Sometime later Cameron made a joke, and Yuuri felt himself laugh without hesitation.

Christophe asked him what he had studied in school, and Yuuri answered without stuttering.

Cassie tumbled over and made a comment on Christophe’s lip balm, and Yuuri couldn’t help offering a short anecdote over how long it had taken the skater to find it.

When his glass was empty, Christophe picked it from his fingers with a nimble flourish and refilled it with a mix of lemonade, and what Yuuri suspected was Katie's peach vodka, although he couldn’t read the foreign label. He couldn’t taste the alcohol when he took a sip either, and the only hint that it was alcoholic at all was the now-familiar burn in his throat, and the way his smile became easier and easier and easier.

The night stretched on. Yuuri kept on smiling. 


	4. Introductions [Part 3]

[Sunday]

[May 9, 2010]

[8:13pm]

 

It started with a phone call. Yuuri was relaxing in his bed with a pair of headphones, working his way through the latest eclectic mix he had downloaded for potential free skate programs, when the music faded out and the phone in his hand began to vibrate. Yuuri recognised the +81 Japanese area code, and immediately answered.

“ _Moshi moshi?_ ”

“ _Hello, is this Katsuki Yuuri?_ ” He couldn’t recognise the voice, but they sounded female, and pleasantly happy in the detached sort of way that many call centre workers were.

“ _Yes, that’s me_.” Yuuri sat up slowly from where he had been lying on his back. Christophe wasn’t in the room with him, but Yuuri could hear the faint sound of the television and background music from the floor below. “ _Who’s speaking?_ ”

“ _This is Takahashi Haruko, from the Japanese Skating Federation. I’m calling to confirm that you’ve been offered a position in two qualifying events, as one of the male entries for Japan in the coming season’s Grand Prix.”_

Yuuri felt the world shrink and distort around him, and everything around him became infinitely focused. His heartbeat was a shudder in his chest, and his next breath shook in his throat. It felt like being turned inside out, except he hadn’t been, he was still sitting here, with his free hand clenched and shaking on the bed, and-

“ _Hello? Yuuri?_ ”

“ _I-I’m still here_ ,” Yuuri managed through numb lips. “ _That’s – great news!_ ”

“ _Yes, it is! The only condition the JSF has, is that you achieve a qualifying score at a recognised Senior competition, before the date of the first Grand Prix event. Since your score for the Junior Worlds was well above the minimum, I’m sure you won’t have a problem.”_  

Was Yuuri breathing? He wasn’t sure.

“ _Katsuki-kun?”_

 _“Thank you,_ ” Yuuri finally gasped. “ _I just … thank you! Thank you so much!_ ”

“ _You’re welcome, Katsuki-kun! And congratulations! We’ll be sending your coach an email with the formalities later today. Goodbye, Katsuki-kun!”_ The unassuming, impersonal voice clicked away, and after a moment’s pause, a melodic tune from his current playlist resumed playing.

Yuuri was sitting on his bed, phone limp in his hand, staring with unseeing eyes across the room.

_What. Just. Happened?_

A grin crept over him, slow and steady and then suddenly all at once, and Yuuri jumped from his bed and turned in a quick spiral, hands cupped over his mouth in excitement. He felt giddy, and he couldn’t stop smiling, and finally with a gasp and a giggle of excitement Yuuri raised his arms and spread his fingers and whooped at the ceiling, his head tilted back as he closed his eyes and shouted,

“ _Yatta-a!”_

Yuuri heard a thump from below, followed by a small shout of alarm, and laughed loudly with a full body shake, when he realised he must have startled Christophe. Yuuri gasped and straightened – Christophe-!

“Christophe!” Yuuri cried, throwing himself towards the door and almost railing himself on the stairs as he scrambled for the lounge. “Christophe, you won’t believe it, I-”

Yuuri burst into the lounge and found Christophe pushing himself up from where he had fallen from the couch, using the armrest as an aide. Yuuri laughed again, catching himself on the doorframe, and watched as Christophe managed to sit upright and rub his head as he said,

“Yuuri, what-?”

“Christophe, Christophe, I got the call!” Yuuri’s voice was thick in his excitement, but he didn’t care. Yuuri bounced forward, the energy inside him was overflowing, his entire body was quivering with it, he couldn’t stand still. Yuuri began to walk around the room, turning with every other step as he fought the urge to laugh or giggle or shout out again. “I got – I’m going to get assigned to the Grand Prix!”

“Really? In your first year as Senior?” Christophe grinned broadly as he pulled himself back onto the couch, and watched Yuuri over the back of the cushions. “That’s wonderful! Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” Yuuri managed through his smile. “I’m – does Celestino-?”

“Your _first_ _year?_ ”

Yuuri turned to the hallway, startled by the new and unfamiliar voice. His eyes widened, and hands that had been gesticulating about in excitement slowly fell to his sides as he took in the newcomer.

He was short, very short. Shorter than Yuuri by almost a head, although thick black hair was spiked two inches high to make up some of that difference. His face was smooth except for a small stubbly goatee, and a hint of crow’s feet in the corner of his golden eyes. Smooth, olive skin set off against the sunshine yellow of his jacket, and Yuuri could see a glint of light from a tiny golden hoop pierced into his left ear lobe.

This must be Yuuri’s other roommate. Esteban.

“Esteban, you’re back!” Christophe said in a cheerful voice, but Yuuri caught a hint of something dark in the way his hands twitched on the cushions, and the way he sat a little straighter on the couch. “Did Celestino pick you up from the airport, then?”

“I took a taxi,” Esteban said shortly, and Yuuri could hear a faint Spanish accent in the sharpness of his t’s, the quick beat of his vowels. “What’s this about someone heading to the Grand Prix in their first year of Seniors?”

“Oh,” Christophe glanced at Yuuri, and Yuuri wasn’t sure, but did Christophe look … concerned? “Well – you haven’t met Yuuri yet, have you?”

“No,” Esteban drew the word out slowly, leaning against the edge of the doorway and folding his arms as he dragged his eyes down Yuuri, and then back up again. “No, clearly I haven’t.”

Yuuri quickly looked over at Christophe, but could only see the back of his head from the angle they were at. Yuuri decided to go for it, his courage bolstered by the excitement of the phone call and its overwhelming news.

“Hi!” Yuuri gave a small smile, and waved shortly. “I’m Yuuri Katsuki, uh, Celestino’s newest student!”

“Hmm.” Esteban gave Yuuri a long look, as if he were picking him apart. “What’s your personal best?”

Yuuri blinked.

“Sorry?”

“Your personal best,” Esteban repeated with a small sigh. “What is it?”

“Uh – my personal best for the short program is – is 62.7, and for my free, it’s, uh, 135.55? I scored both of them at the Junior Worlds, in the Netherlands.”

“What is that, just under 200? You must have won with scores like that, hmm?” Esteban’s voice had a bizarrely tense edge to it, and Yuuri couldn’t decipher the look on his face. Christophe wasn’t talking, but his head did turn a little in Yuuri’s direction. Yuuri shifted his weight, and carried on cautiously.

“Yes.” Yuuri took a breath and gathered himself. “The – the JSF has agreed to submit me for two entries at Grand Prix this year, instead – instead of just the one that I get for winning Junior Worlds. I mean … as long as I get a qualifying score, that is.”

Esteban snorted, and Yuuri drew back in surprise at the violent, derisive sound.

“I guess some people just get lucky, eh _mocoso?_ ”

Yuuri blinked at the unfamiliar word, and frowned a little at the emerging rudeness of the man across from him.

“Lucky?” Christophe stepped in, and his tone held an edge of danger that had Esteban raising his eyebrows in disbelief. “Yuuri came in third at the Japanese Nationals last year, I don’t think it was _luck_ that they assigned him-”

“Well if it wasn’t luck, then they must be truly desperate to turn to a green little thing like you,” Esteban said with such a sullen tone that it took Yuuri a full moment to process what he had actually said-

“ _Esteban!”_ Christophe said sharply, half rising from the couch, and Esteban raised one hand at if to calm Christophe down.  

“Relax, _guapo_. I’m not trying to insult the boy,” Esteban grumbled, with a roll of his eyes. “But his eyes need to be opened, eh? Not all of us are given the world on a platter just because we were in the right place at the right damn time. Some of us actually had to _work_ for it.”

Yuuri was shocked, so shocked that his mouth actually gaped at the man staring him down from across the lounge.

“Esteban, you really shouldn’t-” Christophe started, before-

 “Shouldn’t _what?_ ” Esteban’s voice had fallen into a bitter snap, and Yuuri cringed at the sound. The warm and bubbling feeling from the phone call was a thousand miles away; now, all Yuuri felt was the creeping sense of horror, and wrongness, that Esteban had brought to the room. “You think I shouldn’t tell the little _chato_ what he’s in store for? I got silver in my final Junior Worlds, Christophe. I got silver with a higher score than _he-”_ the word was punctuated with a finger jabbed in Yuuri’s direction, “-has ever skated in his life. And do you know how long it took before the _Federacion_ assigned me two events at the Grand Prix, huh? Two. Fucking. Years.”

“There were other skaters for Spain, Esteban – Suarez was still-”

“I was nothing more than a _reserve_ , Christophe. A glorified understudy, dragged around on the _off chance_ that Suarez injured himself in training. And – and-” Esteban laughed again, a cold and dead sound, “-and then, when I _did_ get assigned, you know what happened?”

Christophe’s shoulders set back, and Yuuri glanced between them, holding his breath.

“I lost my place in the Finals, on a _technicality_.” Esteban’s eyes were burning even from across the room, and Yuuri’s chest contracted in a physical reaction to the raw emotion. “And this _mocoso_ , who hasn’t even broken two hundred yet, is being sent to the Grand Prix with two assignments, by one of the most accomplished skating federations in the world? Don’t make me laugh. You aren’t ready for the real world, _chato_. The real world is going to _eat you alive_.”

Esteban turned to Yuuri to spit the last words at him and levelled a heavy look at him before scoffing, and pushing himself off the frame of the door. “Forget it,” Esteban muttered as he moved away to the kitchen, where his suitcase had been discarded. Yuuri could hear footsteps, accompanied by the thump of the suitcase on the stairs. The door to Esteban’s room opened, and slammed. Dull thuds could be heard from above, a crashing noise … and then silence.

Yuuri stood in the lounge, stunned.

_What._

“I’m sorry, Yuuri,” Christophe said gently, and Yuuri turned to see Christophe half-kneeling on the couch and watching him gently. “Esteban has – not had the easiest career. He’s good, very good, but reckless as well. Spain has had many talented skaters, that have only retired recently to give Esteban the chance for himself. But Esteban, he’s … he pushes himself too hard. He has been injured during training many times, and although he deserves to make it to the Grand Prix Finals – to the Worlds – he’s only made it twice, and has never medalled. He is nearing the end of his career – twenty-three is old for us skaters, yes? There is a lot of pressure from himself, and from his team, to do well this season. It isn’t you, Yuuri. He doesn’t have anything against you. He’s just … frustrated.”

“It’s okay,” Yuuri said quietly, watching the empty doorway and feeling strangely sad. “I think … I understand.”

Yuuri wondered what he might have been like, if he were in Esteban’s shoes. To have worked and struggled his entire career, and have nothing to show for it as time and age caught up to him.

 _Helpless_ , Yuuri thought sadly. _Desperate_.

Shifting where he stood, Yuuri looked to Christophe.

“Are you going to be in the Grand Prix this year?” he asked quietly.

“Of course,” Christophe replied in kind, and he was beginning to settle again, shifting to a comfortable lounge on the cushions. “I have been sent every year, since my Senior debut when I was sixteen. I’ve only medalled at the Grand Prix once, and never at Worlds, but-”

“-but you were ten points off bronze this year … right?” Yuuri cut in, remembering Yuuko’s squeal of excitement when he had video called the night after his departure. _He’s one of the best ten skaters in the world!_ Yuuri smiled. “That’s – that’s awesome!”

Christophe laughed, and to Yuuri’s surprise, blushed.

“Thank you, _topolino_ ,” Christophe said warmly, and Yuuri moved to sit next to him on the couch. They each had one arm looped over the back of the cushions, as they twisted their legs up to face each other. Feeling bold, Yuuri gathered the courage to ask again.

“What does that mean – _topolino_?”

Christophe grinned at him.

“Little mouse,” he revealed in a teasing voice. “You were so shy when you first arrived – and you still are now. I thought it fit you well, hmm?”

Yuuri felt affronted, and then amused, and then strangely touched.

“Little mouse … which is the ‘little’, and which is the ‘mouse’?” Yuuri asked curiously.

“Ah – _topo_ for mouse, _ino_ for small, or little,” Christophe explained patiently, and Yuuri nodded slowly. English had been hard enough for him to learn, travelling the world with Minako-sensei and struggling with the new sounds and consonants rules of speaking a new language. But if his coach – and now, his rink mate – were going to make a habit of speaking Italian, then Yuuri wanted to know what they were saying.

“Could you teach me?”

Christophe blinked in surprise, and Yuuri held fast as he waited for the surprise to settle.

“Teach you?”

“Italian – could you teach me? Just a few words – hello, goodbye …” Yuuri trailed off, and Christophe was beginning to smile at him encouragingly.

“Of course! Of course, Yuuri, I would be happy to teach you! Celestino would be happy to help as well, I think, if you ask him during practice tomorrow,” Christophe said eagerly, and then he sat forward, meeting Yuuri’s eyes to catch and hold his attention. “So – hello! You will already know of _ciao_ , I think-” the two paused to laugh, remembering Celestino’s favourite phrase, “-but if you are greeting someone you do not know very well, you could use the more formal _salve_ …”

Yuuri twisted on the couch and listened to Christophe patiently, nodding and repeating and questioning Christophe as he spoke. Some unknown coffee-shop drama flickered quietly on the screen beyond them, and the dark of the night was heavy through the windows of the lounge. Their voices filled the room with gentle laughter and warmth as time trickled on, soothing the harm dealt by Esteban’s sharp words. Twice, Yuuri heard footsteps from Esteban’s room above them, but they settled quickly, and soon Yuuri had forgotten about them altogether.

It didn’t bother him as much now, what Esteban had said. Yuuri already had one friend here. That was more than enough for him.

 

* * *

 [Monday]

[May 10, 2010]

[9:06am]

 

For Yuuri, training on Monday morning was something like walking on a knife’s edge between elation and devastation.

On the one hand, Celestino had greeted him that morning with a grin that could have blinded him, gushing about Yuuri’s unexpected second submission to the Grand Prix series, and wrapping Yuuri in an enthusiastic bear hug the moment he stepped through to the rink’s lobby.

But on the other hand, Esteban had _tsked_ and snorted as he shouldered past them, throwing his bag against the rink boards with a hollow, shuddering sound, and refusing to look at either of them as he worked through his stretches alone.

Christophe had laughed as he dragged him away from where Celestino was talking with Esteban to instead launch them through a sequence of spins and twizzles that left Yuuri breathless, and matched the joy that was swelling inside him at the thought of the coming season.

But Yuuri’s hands were trembling just a little as he paused to skip through yet another song on his phone, each melody and tune seeming empty, or twisted, or just simply _wrong_ as he searched for the free program he would perform for his first year as a Senior.

Yuuri’s sequences had never felt as natural as he leapt through the opening chords of his short program, his arms tight and his legs snapping to the tune of the guitar, and the look on Celestino’s face had Yuuri glowing in pride.

But Yuuri’s jumps felt like caricatures of themselves, as if Yuuri were going through the motions, and he couldn’t wait to land, and pass, and move on to the next sequence with a sigh of guilty relief.

The high, empty ceiling of the room echoed with the _snick_ and _scrape_ of blades against ice, with the shouts and grunts of Celestino’s three skaters as they worked around the ice and threw jumps, kicks, and spins across the rink. Yuuri let his head fall back, soaking in the unfamiliar feeling of sharing his training ice with the two older and very experienced skaters. It was so different to Hasetsu, with its single rink and dwindling numbers. It was different, too, having a professional coach standing at the edge of the rink and shouting for them to move faster, quicker, higher.

Maybe Yuuri stumbled a little when he met Esteban’s eyes as he passed. Maybe he hadn’t found that song yet, the one that resonated with him, that clicked. Maybe he hesitated as he drew himself up for another toe loop, and maybe the pit in his stomach as he landed had nothing to do with the momentum of the turn.

Yuuri simply pushed the thoughts to the back of his mind, and kept on skating.

  

* * *

 Messages       Yuuko       Edit

 

May 10, 2010 9:37pm  
iMessage

Yuuko

Yuuko help me

I don’t know what to do. I met  
 my other roommate last night  
and he’s sort of … intense?

What do you mean?

Who is he?

His name’s Esteban

Just asked Christophe  
Esteban Alvarez?  
Do you know him?

Country?

Spain

Huh.

No, haven’t heard of him!  
Is he new to the Senior tracks?

Hang on, I googled him. He’s 23??

He’s been with Celestino a few  
years, now. Longer than Christophe  
anyway.

What do you mean by intense?

I don’t know, just … intense

I haven’t told you yet – I got a call  
from JSF last night and they said  
they’ve decided to enter me for  
two GP events this season

Oh my god! Yuuri! That’s awesome!

Seriously, wow! Congrats!!

Thanks! :)

But yeah, I was telling Christophe  
when Esteban got back from the  
airport, and he overhead me

And he sort of …

Went off?

Sorry, I just told Takashi

He says congrats too!

I’m gonna tell the others if you  
haven’t already. This is so awesome!

What do you mean ‘went off’?

He sort of got all weird and  
was shouting about how the  
world was going to eat me  
alive or something

Chris said he’s had a really  
hard time with his competitions  
and stuff

I guess I just feel kind of bad,  
you know?

Yuuri not everything is your fault,  
please don’t take this on yourself!

From the sounds of it, he’s just  
really frustrated that you’re having  
an easier time of it that he is

That isn’t anyone’s fault, it just is!

But what should I do

I mean, I’m going to be living  
with him for who knows how long

I don’t want things to be awkward?

I don’t think there’s anything you  
really can do except give him space

Maybe do something nice for him,  
show him you’re on his side?

Things will turn out just fine

Don’t worry :)

May 10, 2010 11:17pm  
iMessage

Here! I thought this might cheer you up

I took the triplets to see Vicchan  
 for the first time today! So cute!! 

[image]

They are!

I miss you guys

We miss you too Yuuri!

Don’t be a stranger!

I’m here anytime you want to talk  
okay?

Thanks

That means a lot

Really

 

:)

 

* * *

 [Wednesday]

[May 12, 2010]

[11:42am]

 

Leaning against the boards and eyeing his three Senior skaters as they worked through another casual morning session, Celestino’s mind was whirring even as his eyes picked apart their forms with practiced ease.

A lightly-dressed Christophe was looping across the full breadth of the rink, working through the landing of his newly rostered quad Lutz and putting his free leg off balance _every time_ without fail, to Celestino’s repeated criticism.

Brooding Esteban was weaving around him, working through a fragment of his free program that he and his choreographer had settled on, before kicking the ice and throwing himself into spontaneous but well-formed double flips to shake off the frustrations of his shaky step sequences. His program for the season was echoing quietly from the rink’s speakers, on repeat for his perusal as he mulled over ideas for his second half.

Finally, a quiet Yuuri was closest, working through quick bursts of energy as he built up to his fourth run through of a triple Salchow, triple toe loop, with a focus on his off-axis arms as they worked through the transition.

Celestino’s eyes narrowed on Yuuri as he landed his latest toe loop with a neat _clack_. Something was itching at him in the back of his mind, something that had him paying close attention to Yuuri’s jumps for the duration of his time in the rink so far. Something was off. It wasn’t just his arms, but even after four attempts, Celestino couldn’t narrow down anything else that was wrong. His free leg was straight and poised, his knee was bending strongly for the interim landing, he was leaning into the jumps at the correct angle, his head was even held within a degree of perfection. Correct the arms, and Yuuri was landing textbook triples.

So what _was_ it? What was _missing_?

Christophe skid to a halt beside Celestino, finding his water bottle from the small collection on the table and taking a long draw.

“ _That isn’t a happy look_ ,” Christophe said in his Swiss-accented Italian, after gasping for breath as he lowered the bottle. He knocked the nozzle back into place and put the bottle down before turning to survey Yuuri and Estaban, propping his elbows back against the wooden boards. Celestino spared Christophe a short side glance, before returning to his survey of Yuuri as he prepared for a fifth combination.

“ _Something’s bothering me,_ ” Celestino admitted reluctantly, and thoughtfully. “ _Yuuri’s jumps, they aren’t … there’s something off about them. I can’t put my finger on it.”_

“ _Hmm_ ,” Christophe hummed in agreement. “ _I noticed last week. They’re almost … empty, right? Like they’re missing something_.”

“ _It’s so different from how he usually skates,”_ Celestino continued. His brow was furrowed lightly, and he was tapping the tip of a pen against his lips as he spoke, and thought. “ _His sequences are so – full of emotion, and thought, and they’re beautiful because of it._ ”

“ _Well … I – he’s spoken to you about how that works, right?_ ” Christophe almost sounded unsure, and Celestino turned to him in surprise. In the months that he had known him, Christophe had only ever shown him confidence, determination, and bravado in the face of imperfection. It made him challenging to coach, certainly, but it also placed a professional distance between them that was easy to navigate when it came to training and moral support. This uncertainty was new, and Celestino thought wryly that perhaps he was finally seeing a side of Christophe that struck a little truer than the rest.

“ _He has,_ ” Celestino said with a very faint grin. “ _The stories, the – conversations, right?_ ” Celestino was still having a little trouble wrapping his head around it – skating to him had been a dance and a technique for so long, it was jarring to find someone with such a different approach – but, for Yuuri’s sake, he was trying.

“ _Yeah_ ,” Christophe edged one of his feet across the ice absently. “ _Huh. If he’s speaking when he skates, when he’s doing his sequences … what do you think he’s saying right now?_ ”

Celestino frowned and stroked his chin and _looked_. He watched as Yuuri gathered energy and momentum for his sixth attempt, watched as Yuuri’s face – usually so expressive – settled into a clean slate of energy and focus. He drew a parallel as best he could remember between the boy he saw jumping before him, and the one he remembered watching at the Junior worlds. The one he saw in the studio only a week ago, throwing himself into a triple Salchow only to draw short at two rotations.

Celestino imagined that he could see the images overlaying, flowing together, comparing and contrasting before his eyes. The Yuuri at Junior Worlds, captivating and powerful. The Yuuri in the studio, hesitant and shaky. The Yuuri here and now, mechanical in his execution.

Then, Celestino remembered the advice he had given Yuuri, when he just couldn’t land that triple on the ground. _Think of nothing_.

Celestino groaned, and dragged his hand up and over his face to press fingers into his eyes. If Yuuri’s problem had been nerves, pulling his limbs into hesitations and drawing energy away from the turns, then yes – thinking of nothing might have worked. It had for Joseph, his first student at the Senior level, who had clawed his way to the Worlds despite soul-destroying pressure. But Yuuri wasn’t Joseph, was he? _Think of nothing, indeed. I am an_ idiot _._

 _No … no, I just didn’t know any better. I treated Yuuri the way I treat all my skaters_ , Celestino thought to himself wryly, letting his hand fall as he turned back to Yuuri and picked him apart with his eyes one more time. _But he isn’t, is he? Yuuri is something else entirely._ Celestino huffed and watched Yuuri’s landing, his suspicions confirmed. What had worked with Christophe, with Esteban, with his retired Joseph, it wouldn’t work with Yuuri.  

No. With Yuuri, Celestino was going to need to be _creative_.

“ _Maybe it only works when he’s doing a routine …?_ ” Christophe was muttering, but Celestino didn’t pay him any mind. He knew what was wrong, now. And he was going to fix it, before he could cause any further, lasting damage to what was promising to be one of his most outstanding students yet.

“Yuuri-ino!” Celestino called, drawing Yuuri’s attention from his languid, but well-earned break between the sixth and seventh runs. Yuuri’s head turned quickly – Esteban’s, too, although the Spanish man was fast to turn away in a sharp movement and skate to a further corner of the rink. “Come, I need to talk with you!”

Yuuri coasted over, his face a little red from the effort of back-to-back jumps. His black gloved hands rested lightly on his hips as he breathed a little heavier than usual, and his eyes were bright under straight, serious brows.

“Yes, coach?” Yuuri said, his voice just a little breathless.

“Yuuri, I have had a thought,” Celestino started carefully. Christophe was still standing beside him at the barrier, and Celestino carefully ran the words through in his mind. He didn’t just need to be creative. He needed to be _careful_. “When you skate, you are weaving a story for us, yes? Things that you cannot say with words or by speaking. This is true?”

Yuuri’s face was curious to see as the words came out. His eyes widened in surprise, before hooding as he glanced away – over his shoulder, towards the flittering form of Esteban in the distance. Yuuri licked his lips quickly, and his face was unusually cautious when it turned back to Celestino. His voice became quieter as he managed,

“Yes, coach, that’s … true?”

Celestino nodded slowly.

“And your choreography – this is the key to telling your stories, your words, yes?”

“I – I suppose, yes,” Yuuri’s looked even more confused and curious than before. _Good_ , Celestino thought to himself happily. “Why…?”

“As I was saying, I have had a thought. Could you show me a triple Salchow? The same triple Salchow you have done today,” Celestino gestured with a hand for Yuuri to go ahead, which the boy did with a confused frown. His face smoothed over as he approached the take-off, however, and moments later he was skirting around from the landing and returning to Celestino’s side.

“Now, Yuuri – tell me what you were thinking for this jump.”

Yuuri frowned, the closest to frustration that Celestino had seen on his face, and Celestino had to stop himself from raising his eyebrows in surprise.

“I was thinking about nothing, like you said,” Yuuri said, and his words had a hint of a bite behind them.

Celestino nodded slowly. _He knows_ , Celestino realised. _He might not have realised it, but somewhere – he_ knows _that this isn’t right for him. Now, how to show him that?_

“Hmm,” Celestino hummed, pretending to think. Yuuri shifted on his skates, and Christophe was silent, waiting and watching curiously. Celestino finally nodded when he thought he’d left the thought hanging for long enough. “Yes – once more, Yuuri! But this time, I want you to do something a little different. This time, I want you to remember the way this Salchow felt when you were performing your free program at the Worlds. I want you imagine that you are there, Yuuri, and perform this jump exactly as you did in South Korea. Lead it into the toe loop, if you need to, but it is most important that it is _exactly_ _the same_. Can you do this?”

Yuuri looked more confused than ever, but nodded obediently and shifted away. This time instead of moving continuously and gathering speed as he went, Yuuri touched down the pick of his right skate and came to a complete stop, turned half-face to where Celestino and Christophe were watching. Celestino saw Yuuri’s eyes close, his shoulders hunched a little as he thought. The fingers of the hand facing them began to tap a rhythm out against his thigh, and Celestino could see the moment Yuuri caught himself in the movement of music only he could hear.

Yuuri’s head fell back, his shoulders straightened, his arms raised themselves in an echo of his leading choreography, and he shifted his picked foot against the ice, pushing into powerful movement.

This time, his face didn’t smooth as he approached the jump. Instead, as he swivelled and shifted his weight to the jumping edge, his face was strong and fierce, and … determined?

Yuuri’s jump this time was almost wild. It had more height than Celestino had seen all day, more than enough to take him through the rotations, and with room to spare. His arms had character as they tucked themselves into his chest, and his free leg had a cocky twist as it balanced his landing. Yuuri’s wrists turned in a flourish as he continued the learned motion into a triple toe loop, and the toe loop was different, too. The pick into the ice was violent, his head was degrees off from its centre, his legs were twisted elegantly as he turned, and his landing held a polished grace in his arms as he turned away to gently shift the weight and momentum of his body into the ice around him.

Yuuri turned back, and Celestino’s face broke into a broad, crooked, smug grin.

 _There it is._ That’s _the jump that told me I had to coach him_.

Christophe straightened from where he had been slumping against the boards, his eyes wide with something almost like wonder, mixed with surprise.

“ _That was …_ ”

“ _Yes,_ ” Celestino replied, before continuing in English for the approaching Yuuri. “That is what I was after, Yuuri. _That_ is how I want you to jump.”

Yuuri’s face was scrunching again, and Celestino jumped in before he could raise the doubts he could almost see bubbling in his skater’s throat.

“What is the difference, Yuuri, between how you jumped in the studio, and how you jumped just now? Aside from the ice, of course,” Celestino waved the obvious away, and his eyes turned keenly to Yuuri, and then he waited.

Yuuri was thinking, and his eyes were narrowing, and Celestino watched him slowly, slowly, slot the pieces together.

“In the studio, I … I was out of practice?” Yuuri suggested. Celestino nodded carefully.

“That was part of it, I think,” Celestino admitted, with a lilting tone that suggested it was not the complete answer. “Today we have already been on the rink for some time. In the studio, the routine was the first you had performed since landing in Detroit. But there is something else as well, Yuuri. Tell me what you were thinking, what you were _feeling_ when you attempted this jump last Saturday.”

“I was …” Yuuri paused, hesitated, continued. “When I was doing the routine, the first time I tried the jump, I was thinking about … the audience. I was thinking about what it was like to perform in front of people, and I was showing them … what I can do.” His face flushed a little in embarrassment, but he pushed on nonetheless, and then his face slowly began to lighten in realisation. “But – but the second time, when you asked me to do the jump again, I was – I was thinking about my body. The way I moved, the way my arms and legs and – and – that isn’t-”

 _He’s getting it_ , Celestino thought proudly, his grin widening impossibly. Celestino began to nod encouragingly, watching as Yuuri led himself to the answer, and to the solution.

“The first Salchow was a double because I was out of practice,” Yuuri rushed. “But the _second_ Salchow was a double because I wasn’t thinking right! I was – what is the word, when it’s not … how I want it to be?”

“Misrepresenting?” Christophe suggested quietly, and Yuuri’s head bobbled as he gestured to Christophe in excitement at having found the right word.

“Yes! I was _misrepresenting_ myself, I wasn’t – the Salchow, for this routine, the Salchow was me showing my ability to the audience, but when I ran the jump by itself, it was just a – a jump. It wasn’t anything more,” Yuuri was drawing to a close, and Celestino finally felt that it was time to step in, to finish slotting into place the last piece of the puzzle.

“Yes, _yes_ Yuuri. This is where I have been leading you wrong! I have told you that you must think of nothing for your jumps, because I believed that your hesitation was your curse. But this is not how you skate! You speak when you skate, Yuuri, and your jumps are as much a part of the story as your sequences are!” Celestino had both hands braced against the wooden boards now, and he was leaning forward in what was almost anticipation. “But to tell a story, you must _feel_ the story, the emotion. I have seen your routines before, Yuuri, I’ve looked back over years of your performances, but none of the jumps before were like the one you have shown me now, or like the one you showed everyone at South Korea. That jump, and the jump you’ve done for me today, this is the jump that you can do when you start _feeling_.”

“The jump is … a part of my story?” Yuuri repeated, almost incredulous, before brightening with eager energy as the thought spread over him. “I have – I mean, until now, the jumps … they were a technical skill … they were something I did, so that I could compete. I didn’t think that they were, were an emotion, until-”

“I suspected as much, Yuuri,” Celestino nodded warmly. “You have done well to achieve the technical skill that you have, but I have always felt that there was something – _missing_ , yes? It was not until South Korea when I saw this jump, the Salchow, that I thought there could be something _more_.” _And how right I was, Yuuri!_

“So when I jump, I – my body needs to know the skill, but my mind, my emotions-”

“These fill the gap between your skill and the ice, and bring your jump to _life_. Exactly,” Celestino said warmly, proudly, and Yuuri was smiling back. “Now all we must do, Yuuri, is figure out what emotion it is for each jump that you need to feel. The Salchow – this Salchow you landed, what was the emotion, the feeling, that you held inside you?”

Yuuri’s skates slid a little, and he turned absently as he ran the routine, and the jump, through his mind.

“… pride,” Yuuri finally admitted, in a voice that was soft, but sure. “I was thinking of how … proud I was to be there, to perform in front of everyone. How proud I was of what I had achieved, of what I was … trying to achieve.”

“Yes,” Celestino said a little wryly, thinking of Yuuri’s flashy height, his poised arms, the twist in his leg that was far more ostentatious than how Yuuri usually skated. “Yes, I can see this.” Celestino laughed quietly, before continuing the memory of the combination in his mind. The Salchow, bold in its pride, followed by … “And the toe loop?”

“I was thinking of how I wanted to skate in front of everyone forever,” Yuuri admitted, and this admission was easier and more fluent than any he had made before, the words coming smoother. “I wasn’t proud, exactly. I was … pushing. I was daring anyone to stop me, I think. I wanted to stay on the ice forever, and was showing everyone _why_ I should stay.”

“You were jealous,” Christophe suggested with a small, gentle smirk. “Like a jealous man, coveting his lover. You were _daring_ the judges to take you away, just to prove that they would not.”

Celestino chucked at Yuuri’s indignant look, but neither of them moved to counter Christophe’s words.

 _Bold pride and elegant jealously. Yes, I can see that_ , Celestino thought to himself, amusedly.

“Yes,” Celestino repeated out loud. “This is what I’ve been looking for … this is what I’ve been missing, until now. You are ready.”

“Ready?” Yuuri’s voice was careful again.

“With the height of these jumps, and the exercises I have given you, I believe you are ready to start the quad toe loop. We will begin with the rig on Friday!” Celestino clapped his hands together excitedly, and Yuuri looked equal parts thrilled, and nauseous. _Perfect_. “For now, I want you to continue with the triple toe loop – feel the movements, and your emotions, until they become second nature! We have a long road ahead, Yuuri-ino.”

 _Yuuri-ino_ , Celestino smiled to himself. _Little Yuuri. You won’t be little much longer – not if I have anything to say about it._

 

* * *

 [3:04pm]

 

“I think this deserves a treat, Yuuri,” Christophe announced as they stepped into the kitchen from the morning of hard work. After the chaos of the local hockey club had descended on the rink, Esteban had decided to stay behind, retreating up to the studio with Celestino in tow. Yuuri and Christophe had decided to retreat for the day, and were emptying the remnants of their water bottles into the kitchen sink, before Christophe moved to sift through the cupboards. “What do you usually eat, to celebrate?”

“Katsudon,” Yuuri replied immediately with a fond smile. “Ah – pork cutlets with rice. My mum makes wonderful katsudon for the inn.”

“The inn?” Christophe was finished with the cupboard, and had moved to the fridge, taking care to pull out each of the drawers and cast an eye over their supplies.

“My family runs an inn back in Japan, with an _onsen_ – a hot spring,” Yuuri explained as he watched Christophe open a bottle of milk and cringe a little at the contents. “It’s the only inn left in Hasetsu now, which means it gets a lot of business. Mum asks me to help cook and deal with the guests sometimes, during the busy season.” Yuuri was beginning to trail off, memories flickering through him. His smile slipped. “It’ll be the busy season soon, actually …”

Christophe looked up from the fridge, and closed the door gently.

“Are you still … what am I saying, of course you are still missing them,” Christophe said quietly, before perking up and smiling at Yuuri comfortingly. “What better way to celebrate today than with your mother’s meal, hmm? Come, Yuuri – if we get changed, we can head for the store, yes? We’ll get everything we need for a proper _kat-su-don_.”

Yuuri giggled at his pronunciation, but obediently threw on clothes that weren’t ruined from their time on the rink, and followed Christophe down the steps of the house.

“How are we getting there?” Yuuri asked, looking over their empty driveway and remembering the glimpse he had seen of their garage, filled with cardboard boxes and black rubbish bags, but nothing that could be used for travelling. “Is there a bus line?”

“Ah, we won’t be using that today, _topolino_!” Christophe exclaimed, hanging a busy ring of keys from his middle finger. “I have the keys to the SUV!”

It took Yuuri a moment to catch on.

“ _Celestino’s_?” Yuuri said, incredulously. “He – he lets you – but-”

Christophe turned with a look of false-hurt and said, “I’ll have you know that I am a fantastic driver, Yuuri,” as they crossed to the beige vehicle outside Celestino’s home.

“But don’t – don’t you need to tell him you’re taking it?” Yuuri circled to the passenger door with one eye on the distant rink, half expecting Celestino to burst through the doors and across the car park, demanding to know what on Earth they thought they were doing.

“Hmm, he’ll figure it out,” Christophe said nonchalantly, before finally unlocking the doors and sliding into the driver’s seat. Yuuri followed gingerly, and they were soon pulling back out onto the pale asphalt road with a surprisingly smooth turn. Settling on a station of folksy music, Christophe settled back and wound the window down, letting a comfortable silence grow between them.

Turning his eyes to the world outside, Yuuri realised that this was the first time he had been about Detroit during the day, and he took the time to take in the city. There was an abundance of trees and flat, grassy strips, which brought colour to the otherwise grey and red brick buildings. The streets were at strict right-angles to each other, which was startling and a little disorienting at first. As the occasional store became more and more frequent, and they moved into a truly commercial area, the number of people wandering the side walk began to grow. Yuuri found himself fascinated; outside of competitions, he had never seen such a mix of people before, and if he were being quietly honest, he felt a little out of place.

The car park they ended up pulling into was half-full, and cupped on all sides by low-lying buildings in faded and chipped pastel-coloured paints. There were some pedestrians around, with a noticeable flux of teenagers and younger-aged children crowding into a fast-food store on one corner that boasted unfamiliar brands on advertising boards. The sky was a wash of blue and white, and seemed to swallow the scene from above as Yuuri followed Christophe in a weaving path between the cars and into the shadow of a doorway with hanging plastic blinds.

“Celestino suggested this place to me when I first arrived,” Christophe revealed as they stepped through the cold, slapping plastic and into a dense, orange-lit store. “It has one of the best ranges of international foods that he has found so far, and the owner is a very nice man. Come – I think some of the Japanese foods are this way.”

Yuuri followed slowly, taking in the smells and sights of the new, windowless room. The aisles were stacked far higher than he was used to, and were far closer together, leaving him feeling a little claustrophobic. As they moved down the aisles, Yuuri caught glimpses of unfamiliar texts and letters, and was struck intermittently with the scent of thick herbs, heavy salt, and dry dust. There were a few other patrons, the murmur of their conversation masked by the tinny chatter of a radio by the front counter and the hum of desk-top fans strewn throughout the store.

The aisle they came to was one of the furthest from the entrance, and Yuuri had to pause beside Christophe in amazement when his caught on the shelves of familiar scripts, logos, and names.

“These are …” Yuuri said slowly, grinning slowly as he raked his eyes up and down the slim shelves.

“Do they have what you need?” Christophe asked, and Yuuri was quick to nod enthusiastically.

“Yes – yes, see, this is the same _panko_ my mother buys, and here-” Yuuri  reached out to pull down an orange packet of his favourite rice crackers – not essential for the katsudon recipe he had memorised, but still an unexpectedly familiar sight that he was pleased to see – but before he could retrieve them, a surprised squeal burst out from beside them.

“Christophe? Oh my _god_ , hi, I wasn’t expecting to see you here!”

Yuuri jumped and turned to see a young woman of about Christophe’s age standing beside them, toting a green shopping basket filled with an eclectic mix of packages. The woman was plump with smoky brown hair, and had a dimpling smile as she bounced over to give Christophe a warm, one-armed hug.

With a start, Yuuri realised that he recognised her – she had been at Cameron’s house on Friday night, bunched around a speaker as she sang along in a surprisingly deep voice, and then laughing uproariously later on as the night descended into a messy game of beer pong held over two end tables bridged by a flattened cardboard box.

“Oh – hey, you brought your friend!” she continued in the same, cheery voice as she pulled back to see Yuuri as well. She opened her mouth, smiling as she went to greet him, only to pause and laugh nervously. “Oh god, this is so embarrassing! What was your name again? I’ve completely blanked.” She shared an apologetic smile as she bounced in place a little.

“I thought I'd introduced you two at Cameron’s the other day,” Christophe said teasingly, drawing a blush and nervous giggle from the familiar stranger. Yuuri twitched, and stood a little straighter. _Wait._ “Don’t mind Paula, Yuuri, she can be a little forgetful sometimes. This is Yuuri, he’s skating with me under Celestino now. Yuuri, Paula is-” _That’s it._

Christophe kept talking, Yuuri was sure of it. But the words had faded beyond meaning – the only thing that he could hear now was the string of words that had caught his attention-

_I thought I'd introduced you._

_She can be a little forgetful._

_She can be a little forgetful._

Yuuri felt as though his body had frozen without his consent, his every muscle trapped and quivering with restrained tension. It was so unexpected that this would happen here – that here, in the middle of a store, when he hadn’t even been _thinking_ about it-

 _I thought I'd introduced you. She can be a little forgetful_.

 _That’s_ it.

“Christophe! _Christophe!_ ” Control flooded back into his body, like the breaking of a dam, and Yuuri threw himself at the older skater, grabbing Christophe’s upper arms as he stared intensely up into his face. Christophe staggered back a little, but caught himself against Yuuri’s surprise. 

“Yuuri, what-”

“I figured it out!” Yuuri cried before laughing loudly, happily. A grin grew, stretching from one side of his face to the other, and Yuuri kept both hands on Christophe’s arms as he met his eyes fully, brightly. “My free program, I know what I want to say!”

“Yuu – really? Uh, _now_?” Christophe looked confused and a little shocked, which Yuuri supposed was from the startling change in conversation. Paula had stepped back, shocked by Yuuri’s explosion of energy, before watching a little awkwardly as the conversation progressed.

“Yes! I – I want to introduce myself, of course, but the most important part of any introduction is remembering! I want to meet everyone, and tell them who I am, but most important of all is that I don’t want any of them to _forget me_ ,” Yuuri knew his eyes were burning with determination, and his fingers were clenching into Christophe’s arms, but he felt so _sure_ , like he hadn’t since he’d stepped off the ice after dancing for Celestino and knowing that he had heard him for the first time. “I want – I want to make an impression. A first impression, as if … they won’t _want_ to forget me. _That’s_ what I want to say.”

Paula was obviously listening, and Yuuri couldn’t tell if she looked shocked, insulted, or embarrassed. A mix of all three, most likely. Yuuri would have felt embarrassed himself, if it weren’t for the overwhelming relief of figuring out his second program.

“Oh! Oh – I’m sorry, Paula, if I made you feel awkward! But thank you, so much, for helping me figure it out! I think it’s a good thing you forgot my name, after all!” Yuuri clamoured to smooth over what could end up being a very awkward social encounter, but to his relief, Paula’s face finally settled on a look of confused amusement.

“No problem, Yuuri,” Paula made a point to emphasise his name with a small smile. “I’m glad I could help with … whatever it was that I ended up helping.”

The three of them laughed quietly, Paula falling into vague promises to catch up with Christophe some time before waving as she moved past them, towards the counter where a middle-aged man served the counter with a kind smile.

“Oh, I hope she doesn’t think that was strange,” Yuuri said in a quiet voice as he watched her go, but Christophe was quick to loop an arm around his shoulders and drag his attention away.

“Don’t worry, _topolino_. Paula is a lovely girl, I’m sure she won’t hold it against you,” Christophe said, and although he was grinning, he was also surprisingly reassuring. Yuuri smiled up at him gratefully. “Now – what else did you need? I heard you say _pan-ko_ before, what is that?”

Yuuri brightened and took one of the packages of panko from the shelf, explaining the difference between these and breadcrumbs to his unlikely student.

That evening, Yuuri moaned contentedly as he bit into his first taste of home in weeks. Christophe was nodding appreciatively from the armchair, while the _Kardashians_ played quietly on the TV before them. Esteban had even crept down to find the bowl Yuuri had left for him, and quietly retreated with it.

Everything was falling into line. Yuuri had a coach that understood him, a theme that he had chosen, a short program that he felt in his bones when he danced, a new perspective on his approach to his jumps, an idea for his free program, a friend to help him, another submission to the Grand Prix that was more than he had ever expected, and a family in Japan that was only a phone call, or a video line, or a simple message away.

Yes. Everything was falling into line.

Now all Yuuri needed was a song, his final song for the free program, _the_ song, and he would be ready for _anything_ this coming season could throw at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys enjoyed! Please let me know if you find any errors, or if you just have any thoughts, I'd love to hear them! 
> 
> <3<3


	5. Introductions [Part 4]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The original, unedited author's note (which documented the edits I had made over chapter 1-4 before uploading chapter 5) can be found at [this link](https://red-twice.tumblr.com/ch5-authorsnote).

[Friday]

[May 14, 2010]

[10:01am]

 

After the week of daily squats, box-jumps, and more toe loops than he could count, Yuuri finally stepped through from the reception for his next training session to find Celestino hoisting a training rig above the length of the rink, aided by Wally at the far end of the room.

Yuuri held back a shudder, and folded himself into the first of his stretches for the morning.

The rig Celestino had shown him the night before was a thick, black harness of Velcro that would fit snug around Yuuri’s waist, with thin lines stretching from the back of his ribs to a wire hung across the length of the room. Celestino had revealed that he would be taking to the ice as well, to hold a trailing length of rope that would catch against Yuuri if he fell.

Yuuri had used rigs before, when he was learning his first jumps as an awkward child, and again when he had first attempted the triple axel two seasons ago. He remembered the tight feeling of the rig around his lower chest, and the awkward bite when he slipped on the landing and bounced back to his feet instead of sliding across the ice in a hot flash of pain.

Rigs worked at building confidence and muscle memory, yes. But Yuuri had always found the straps and cords unbearably awkward to work with, especially around his arms, and he had abandoned them as soon as his coaches deemed him ready.

But if this was what he needed, what Celestino thought he needed, then Yuuri was willing to put his pride aside and try.

Celestino was beckoning to him, and Yuuri rose from the black mats as he tied his second skate into place. His first step onto the ice was firm, and the strokes of his legs were sure as they led him to where Celestino waited.

Until now, jumps had been a necessarily evil. Something Yuuri learned so that he could stay at this level, and continue to share himself with his family, with his competitors, with the audience itself. But Celestino had revealed to Yuuri that jumps could be as much a part of his choreography as the sequences and spins, and that realisation had lit a fire in Yuuri, a new and unfamiliar drive.

He didn’t just want to land a quad toe loop. He _needed_ to. He was _going_ to. And Celestino was going to show him how.

With Esteban and Christophe upstairs in the studio and Celestino taking the trailing rope in hand, Yuuri braced himself and wrapped the last of the rig into place.

He was ready.

 

* * *

 [11:59am]

 

“Again.”

Panting as he leant forward and braced against his knees, Yuuri threw a frustrated glare at the ice under his feet, before kicking with the pick of his foot and straightening.

“It’s not – I’m not-” Yuuri managed, before letting out a short, frustrated groan. “I’m not _getting_ it!”

“You _will_ get it, Yuuri. You will jump again! You will not give up!” Celestino commanded in a strong voice, gripping the rope in his hands as he moved a little closer to Yuuri. “This is only the beginning of a very long, and very hard road. Do not be discouraged if you don’t get it right away! Now, try again!”

Yuuri gathered himself and moved closer to the end of the rink, assuming his starting position. He closed his eyes, taking in the silence of the rink as it tightened around him, the press of the cold against his feet and calves and fingertips, the sound of fabric sliding against fabric as he moved his arms-

The metallic _shlinck_ of the rig, as the support rolled down the pulley line to follow Yuuri’s movements.

“Again,” he finally agreed, before taking a breath, deep and full, and pushing forward.

 _Push, push, turn – arms wide – ugh, the harness – turn, pick_ hard _, push_ up _-_

The movements were familiar. He had done them hundreds of times, in doubles and triples – the only differences, really, should have been the height, the speed of his turns, and the power. _Push harder, turn faster, jump higher._ Yuuri knew the theory, he knew what his body needed to do, he knew what it should look like. He filled his mind with that image, projected what he knew _should be_ and tried to make it what _is_. But-

His skate hit the ice with an awful scrape, catching at the wrong angle, and Yuuri felt the breath punch out of him as Celestino pulled hard against the fall. The harness caught him before he could hit the hard cold of the rink, and Yuuri bounced against the momentum.

 _Dammit_ , Yuuri cursed silently, feeling the rig go slack as he found his feet again. _Dammit, dammit, dammit_.

“Hmm. Your arms are too slow,” Celestino said in a thoughtful, yet matter-of-fact tone while Yuuri recovered, feeling the burning ache in his thighs and calves slowly fade. “They must be quick and tight, to centre the momentum. You almost have the rotations down – it is your balance that is the problem here, I think.”

Yuuri didn’t answer.

“Now - again!”

Biting back a humourless laugh, Yuuri turned back to the further edge of the rig and settled his skates against the ice once more. _Again. Again. Again._ It was Celestino’s word of the day, and it was starting to lose meaning. _Again, again, again._ Yuuri closed his eyes.

He took longer to collect himself this time. Standing with the rig suspended above him, Yuuri shook out his hands, clenched and unclenched his fingers, curled his toes against the padded soles of his skates. He tried to remember what it felt like, when he had first landed his triple toe loop just a handful of years ago. That sense of elation, of realisation. When all the pieces slotted together, and he could see how to mould everything he had learned into a single, smooth movement.

He drew desperately on that feeling of completeness, of rightness, and with his eyes closed he gathered his strength, pushed forward, and around, and-

Yuuri choked out a gasp as the rig pulled tight around him again, and opened his eyes to find that he had been thrown completely off course, his legs and arms askew, and his skates biting awkwardly into the ice as he scrambled for balance.

“ _Che cavolo_ , what was _that_ , Yuuri?” Celestino cried as he moved closer, reaching out to take one of Yuuri’s flailing arms. Yuuri bunched two fistfuls of Celestino’s jacket in an effort to steady himself against the ice, and finally managed to calm his panicking feet. Yuuri hung his head a little, eyes half-lidded as he breathed through the cramp of his thighs. “You were all over the place! What happened?”

“I – wasn’t…” Yuuri managed between short, quick breaths. His mind was racing. _What was it? What was wrong? What was I_ thinking- “I wasn’t – thinking right.” Yuuri slowly released his hold on Celestino’s sleeves, drawing away and inching his head up as he mentally relived the chaos of the jump. “I wasn’t thinking what I _should_ be thinking.”

“So what should you be thinking, then, hmm?” Celestino said with the leading tone of a teacher.

“I don’t _know_ ,” Yuuri groaned in frustration. “Just now I was thinking – I mean, I was _trying_ to think, or remember, what it felt like when I landed the triple for the first time. The feeling of being … complete?” Yuuri shook his head. “But that isn’t the right feeling – I don’t _know_ what it feels like to complete a quad toe loop.”

Celestino hummed, folding his arms and tapping the fingers of one hand against the fabric of his jacket.

“If this is not the correct feeling, then you of course will need to try something else,” Celestino paused, before continuing cautiously. “You do not want to try and clear your mind? It may help, in this case.”

Yuuri resisted the urge to shudder.

“No! No, I – I’ve been doing so _well_.” Yuuri surprised himself by hesitating only a little as he leapt to his own defence, and his mouth almost twitched into a smile at the small, unfamiliar glow of pride that had settled into his stomach. “My jumps … they’ve never felt so good before. I want to keep on feeling like that. I want my jumps to always feel this good. I just need to figure this out. Please, let me keep on trying my way!”

A warm flush was rising through his throat and cheeks, but Yuuri stood tall and met Celestino’s eyes squarely. He had finally found the missing piece to his routines that would perfect them beyond what he had hoped. He wasn’t going to let it go so easily.

“Of course, Yuuri,” Celestino finally settled with a proud smile. “I wouldn’t ask for anything less. Now …”

“Again!” Yuuri said along with him, and Yuuri shared a shaky, but determined smile with his coach before taking a bracing breath, and returning to the starting point of his lead in.

 _Again. Again._ Again.

 

* * *

 [2:57pm]

 

Yuuri’s legs were trembling as stretched at the top of the step ladder, carefully unscrewing the catch that tethered the rig to a beam in the wall. The muscles of his legs were warm with the ache of hard work and deep stretches. His knees were sore from countless landings, and his lower back tense from the twists of the turn. Yuuri blinked hard, tugging at the catch harshly.

He had yet to land even a single quad toe loop.

Yuuri sucked in a breath, the sound swallowed by the grumble of the Zamboni on the ice. His fingers shook a little as he finally unhooked the steel cable, and he was careful as he stepped down, his knees threatening to give way as they bent.

“Is it loose?” Yuuri could barely hear Celestino’s loud voice from the other end of the rink, and didn’t trust his own voice right then. Instead, Yuuri nodded and waved an arm, before carefully walking his end of the cable to one side of the room. As Celestino pulled, the cord slipped through Yuuri’s fingers and caught against the rubber mats of the floor. Yuuri turned deliberately away, and knelt beside his bag to fish out his sneakers.

The day had been exhausting, beyond anything he’d ever done before. The long hours had been filled with dozens of attempts at one of the hardest jumps a skater could ever manage, far beyond anything Yuuri had ever managed before. Each time, Yuuri had tried harder and harder to scrape together some strength he didn’t know he had to finally complete that forth rotation, to maintain his composure and _land_ it against all odds.

Except, he hadn’t.

Yuuri closed his eyes, fingers stuttering on his shoe laces as a wave of humiliation washed through his chest, tightening it.

Celestino had dedicated the entire morning to him, hours and hours of one-on-one coaching, and personalised advice, and so many miniscule tweaks to Yuuri’s posture that his head was still swimming with them.

 _Tighter arms_ , Yuuri remembered. _Quicker. Tuck your legs in a little faster, but looser around the ankles. Head, at_ this _angle, Yuuri. Your hips – forward, boy, forward! Tilt like this, jump like that, again, again, again._

Yuuri couldn’t move.

He couldn’t breathe.

His vision was blurring.

Footsteps were approaching.

“Yuuri?”

Yuuri’s fingers fumbled on the zipper of the bag, and he choked on a breath before carefully raising his head.

“Yes, coach?”

Their eyes met, and Yuuri had to fight not to blush in shame at the sheen of frustrated tears he knew his coach could see in his eyes, though they had yet to spill over onto his cheeks. Celestino paused, before slowly crouching beside Yuuri. His broad face was calm and serious, and to his surprise, Yuuri found himself settling just a little, the chaos in his chest calming.

“Yuuri … please do not be hard on yourself,” Celestino said, and his voice steady, his dark eyes straight and sure. “The first quad is the hardest, it always is. Most skaters never even try this, and for those that do, it can be months before they land it, if they land it at all. This is only your first day! Of _course_ you will not land this quad yet, it is too soon! But I promise, Yuuri, we will not stop trying. I know that you can do this. You have the power, the height, the weight, the balance – everything! Please, Yuuri-ino, _trust_ me when I say that I have faith in you. We will not give up until you have mastered this new skill. _Si?_ ”

Yuuri’s eyes swam and his throat constricted, but it was accompanied by the beginnings of a pleasant warmth in his chest, the loosening of tight panic, and his lips drew into a shaky smile that was as fragile as it was genuine.

“Thank you, coach,” Yuuri managed in a strangled voice, before ducking his head and pressing the back of his wrist over a warm eye that threatened to break.

Celestino’s large hand settled warmly on Yuuri’s shoulder before sliding off, and his footsteps retreated again, leaving Yuuri alone at the side of the rink. Yuuri sat for a moment, letting his breathing settle and his heartbeat ease, before pushing himself to his feet with his bag firmly in one hand.

The Zamboni was still rumbling across the rink, practice was over for the day. But it was alright. Celestino had promised him: Yuuri was going to land a quad, one day.

“I’m going to land a quad, one day,” Yuuri repeated aloud, softly. His words were swallowed by the biting sound of the ice-cleaner. Yuuri chewed at his lip, before repeating a little louder, “I’m going to land a quad, one day.” He could hear himself now, and the words brought a tiny smile to his face. Yuuri moved towards the lobby, the words like a mantra in his mind. “I’m going to land a quad.” Across the carpark, over the unmarked road, through the ankle-high grass between the footpath and the front door. “I’m going to land a quad!” Into the kitchen, up the stairs, throwing his bag onto his bed as he eyed the rink through the window with fierce determination.

“I _am_ going to land a quad!” Yuuri threw these final words down like a challenge, and he’d never felt so sure about himself, and his abilities. He was going to do it. Celestino was going to help him.

It was only a matter of time, and hard work, and patience.

 

 

* * *

[Wednesday]

[May 19, 2010]

[7:07am]

 

This was it. His last season, his last chance. If he didn’t make it now, he never would.

Everyone knew it – his coach, his choreographer, his fellow skaters. Esteban had seen the first articles whispering about his retirement on a small local news feed linked into his email account. _Local Skater Nears End of Career – Where Next for Esteban Alvarez?_

Esteban gritted his teeth as he accidentally pulled the lace of his skate just a shade too tight, and set about re-loosening the ties with sharp, frustrated movements.

It wasn’t fair. He hadn’t even had a chance to show the world what he could do, not really. But time was merciless, and deep down, he knew that his knees wouldn’t last another season against the ice.

If he were being smart, like his first skating coach had tried to teach him, then he would have taken it slow. He would have built himself up over the season, to peak later in the year, and then maybe he could make it past twenty-four and still compete.

But this wasn’t the year for playing it safe, not when he had finally been guaranteed his position as Spain’s representative on the international field.

Esteban pushed himself to his feet, stepping gingerly on the blunt of the guards. He was the first on the ice this morning, as usual, and the cut of the blades under him against the smooth, untouched surface sent a shiver down his spine.

He had called the _Eastgate Ice Arena_ his home for over three years, ever since the _Federacion_ had secured him a contract with Celestino. After witnessing the domination of Celestino’s prize student Jacque in his final year of skating, Esteban had known that he was the coach he wanted. A handful of skaters had joined him during his time, each less memorable than the last. Celestino’s first female skater, a ferocious German named Naomi, had shared the three-bedroom home with Esteban for a successful season and a half before her mother’s sickness called her home. The next, a tiny British boy with a ridiculous cowlick, who had only stayed through half a turbulent season before flying back home in a huff over his mismatched patchwork of progress. Maree, a timid mouse of a skater, had flown in from the Netherlands and then back again a year later, after placing third in Worlds and deciding that was the peak of whatever career she had been looking for.

Then Christophe’s coach had retired, and the bane of Esteban’s life revealed himself in a glory of bleach-blond hair and outrageous flirtation.

Christophe was loud. He was flamboyant, both on and off the ice. He approached training like it was a time for comedy and error, instead of intense focus. He was everything Esteban wasn’t.

He was one of the top ten skaters in the world.

Esteban chewed bitterly at the inside of his cheek as he started his warm-up laps, resisting the urge to spit.

Celestino had supported Esteban through each season, consoling him when he missed the Worlds free program qualifier, again when he was placed sixteenth, and then _again_ less than a month ago when he had been just a hairs breadth from tenth. But where Celestino had once devoted his attentions to two skaters – three, at most – he had now taken on a forth, more than he had ever done before. And the worst part was, Esteban _knew_ that it was in anticipation of his own retirement.

_Esteban will be gone by the end of this season. He’s already reached the peak of his potential. Why bother coaching someone doomed to fail?_

Christophe, Esteban could understand. He had clear potential, having already been Switzerland’s best skater two years running, despite the obvious errors in his routine that Celestino was no doubt itching to smooth over. Christophe’s old coach had ties with Celestino going back years. As much as Esteban disliked him, Christophe coming to Detroit was almost an inevitability, and Esteban had long since resigned himself to it.

Theresa was sweet. She was young, and hopeful, a sharp reminder of the little sister he had left behind in Spain. Theresa still had years before she would truly enter the competitive arena, and somehow Esteban wanted to keep her here in happy ignorance for as long possible. Esteban found, to his surprise, that he could look back on her discovery in the weekly novice classes with genuine fondness.

But Yuuri? Yuuri _infuriated_ Esteban.

There was, of course, the obvious. Yuuri was the fourth skater Celestino had taken on this season. Yuuri was young, without a single quad to his name just yet. Yuuri had placed first in Junior worlds, and was poised for an explosive Senior debut. When Esteban had heard that he would be coming to Detroit, the first word through his mind had been _replacement_. Swapping the old model out for the new. It was insulting.

But then Esteban grew to know Yuuri, and insult turned to injury.

Yuuri wasn’t just young – he was naïve. His sheepish smiles and cutesy demeanour wouldn’t last in the Senior tracks, not if he wanted to win. And if he wasn’t here to win, then _what_ did he think he was he doing with Celestino, of all coaches? If Esteban was going to be replaced, at least let him be replaced by a skater that burned as much as he did, that _wanted_ first place like Esteban wanted it.

No. Instead, Esteban was going to be replaced by an eighteen-year-old child, whose short program sounded like a radio jingle trying to sell weekend deals at a cheerful country resort. _Esteban’s_ Senior debut at Skate Canada had been a cacophony of drums and bass and violin, dramatic and arresting and violently demanding. He had even placed on the Skate America podium, for all it was that it was worth; the single medal would never have been enough to get him into the finals.

Of course Esteban was infuriated.

Esteban had barely been back a fortnight, and he could see how the season would play out. Celestino would devote more and more of his time to his young, promising students. It wasn’t close enough to season’s start for structured timetables, but Esteban could already see the hours with his coach slipping away. Yuuri wanted to land a quad, Esteban had learned last week. Christophe wanted to perfect his quad Lutz.

Esteban hadn’t added a new quad to his repertoire since he was twenty-one, and the thought of doing so now brought an ache to his legs.

He had made half a dozen laps of the rink by now, and his thighs were finally shaken out enough that he could manage the opening steps to this year’s free program. He threw himself into the movements with sharp passion, arching his limbs ferociously as he imagined the symphony in his mind.

The music had been chosen by Antonio, his choreographer. The movements, the steps, the sway of his arms and body, had been chosen by Antonio. The costumes, which would be measured in Detroit but sewn by a favoured artist in Barcelona, had been chosen by Antonio, who demanded nothing but the best.

If this was going to be his last season, then he was going to give it _everything_.

 

* * *

[10:01am]

 

Yuuri was here. Christophe, too. But it was for _Yuuri_ that Celestino was clipping the rig into place, dominating the space of the rink with the ugly metal line.

Esteban hissed sharply as he ducked to avoid the slack of the wire, Celestino slowly tightening it against the far beam. Yuuri himself was still offside, and Esteban could hear the low noise of his conversation with Christophe as they stretched for the ice, but couldn’t make out any words.

Fine. So, his practice couldn’t use the entire expanse of the rink – he would just have to make do with what little space was left.

The two latecomers were taking their places on the rink not ten minutes later, with Celestino trailing behind Yuuri in his own blocky skates. Christophe was looking dangerously like he was about to approach Esteban, so Esteban quickly swivelled away and skated as far as he could manage to the opposite edge of the rink.

It was difficult, trying to fit the long sweeps of his routine into the half-rink space the rig left him with, but Esteban felt as if he managed it well. He finessed the cross-over into a half turn that sent him back into the corner he was working from; the run-up for his triple Lutz became an awkwardly curved path that still managed to carry him through a double; he marked his combination rather than actually jump through it, but he still managed to fit both the lead-in and the follow through into the space on the ice that the rig didn’t cover.

The practice itself was intermitted with sounds from Celestino, from Yuuri, and from Christophe. Every few minutes, Celestino’s sharp and familiar _“Again!_ ” would bite through the air, and the word would soon be followed by the crisp of blades against ice, the metallic whisper of the rig, and the grunt of Yuuri and Celestino both as the rig caught the young skater in his failure. Christophe himself was humming the ridiculous tango he had chosen for his free program, darting around Yuuri and Celestino and Esteban and shimmying to silly choreography he clearly really settled into yet.

Esteban worked in cold silence, and he couldn’t help but flinch whenever one of the other three made a particularly loud, crude, or violent noise.

It wasn’t his best practice, but it was something. The choreography was a little more natural, and Esteban finally felt that he might be able to work through the program from start to finish without referencing the video Antonio had sent him the week before.

They broke some time in the early afternoon for a light lunch – with Esteban deliberately angling his body away from the others, his eyes fixed on the far side of the room as images of his routine flickered in his mind. Celestino cautioned them to relax for a handful of minutes before returning them to the ice, this time staying on the ground himself and circling the rink with his hand warmly pocketed. The rig had been taken down, and Celestino had finally left Yuuri with a collection of exercises to do while he turned his attentions to his other skaters.

 _Yes, you’re contracted as my coach too, remember_ , Esteban thought to himself wryly, as Celestino came to a halt against the boards beside him.

“Esteban, I have seen your work this morning,” Celestino started, cutting right to the chase. “You’re doing well on the turns, as usual, and your Lutz is as flawless as always. The spins need work – tighter, Esteban, you need to tighten your core, here-” Celestino prodded a long finger into Esteban’s stomach, and Esteban nodded absently. It was nothing he hadn’t heard before, but he always welcomed the reminder. Celestino paused, and sighed. “How long were you on the ice before practice started this time, hmm?”

Esteban couldn’t help bristling.

“Since seven,” he said shortly, almost daring Celestino to tell him to stop. It wasn’t competition season yet, he wasn’t burning himself out. He needed this.

Celestino tutted, loudly, and Esteban had to fight the urge to frown in defiance.

“ _Ah,_ _Dio santo_ , Esteban, I hope you know what you are doing,” Celestino levelled him a _look_ , and Esteban huffed impatiently. “No – _listen_ to me. Do you want to repeat last year again, huh? Finish your season before it has even begun? Be careful, Esteban. I trust you, but I will step in if I think you are pushing too hard. Alright? We are working smarter this season, not harder. You need to ease up, or you’re going to hurt yourself.”

Esteban’s fingers twitched, and he had to fight back a groan that clawed at his throat. _You’re working too hard, you’re going to hurt yourself, slow down, Esteban, go home, stop, be_ careful. He was tired of it. Easing up now could cost him the peak of his career, the finale he had been anticipating for the last ten years.

 _Or it could cost you your place in Grand Prix. It could cost you your place at Worlds. It could cost you your leg, or your hip, or your spine_.

Esteban sighed. Nodded. Looked away.

“Good,” Celestino sighed, smoothing a hand over his own head and tangling his fingers in the messy ponytail before shaking his hand off with a sigh. “Good. So – spins, as usual. I want ten sit-spins, with the ankle high, Esteban, and then you are getting off the ice for today.” Esteban opened his mouth to protest, and Celestino raised a warning finger. “ _No_ arguing. Ten spins, and you’re off the ice. Yes?”

His feet were throbbing in time with his heartbeat.

Esteban nodded reluctantly, and moved away. Celestino stayed, lingering against the boards of the rink and keeping his eyes squarely on Esteban as he turned to gather momentum for his first spin.

He had been with Celestino the longest, out of any of his students, ever. He had trained with him the longest, the hardest, had dedicated the most of himself to this profession. But Celestino had already taken on another skater. He had already taken on _two_ skaters, both younger and just as promising as Esteban had once been. Esteban had never won a gold medal, not at any of the international, ISU-sanctioned finals that really mattered.

But Esteban was twenty-three years old.

It was too late for him to doubt his decisions.

The first spin earned him a quick remark over the state of his supporting leg, the second a sharp whistle for attention, followed by a correction on the curve of his neck and the strength of his turn. The third spin lasted the longest so far and earned him an approving nod from Celestino, which in turn brought a satisfied smile to Esteban’s face.

The fourth, the fifth, each passed with only minute corrections. By the sixth spin, Esteban’s supporting leg – the one that bent hard to support his body as he crouched through the spin, clutching his straight leg – was beginning to shake with exertion. But Celestino had said ten, and so ten he would do.

The seventh, the eighth. His hands were damp with sweat as they clutched the free leg, his forehead pressing against his knee desperately. He lost his balance quicker, now, and had to pull out of the spin sooner and sooner as the dizziness caught up with him.

The ninth. His form was noticeably weakening, but Celestino was quiet. There was a silent understanding between them, an acknowledgement that they didn’t need to voice his trembling knees, or barely-straight back. Esteban knew, like Celestino knew, that by now there was no point in berating Esteban for his shortcomings.

Esteban sighed, turning slowly around his quarter of the rink. There were shavings of ice strewn about in tiny heaps and burrows, from the cut of his blades through his tight, fast spins.

_“I found it!”_

Esteban aborted his leap with ease, sinking the gathered energy into a sharp cut of his blades that stopped him in a spray of shaved snow. He turned, slowly, his breath a little quick from the effort of his last half hour.

Yuuri.

The young skater was approaching, eyes bright, face flushed, holding an iPod in one hand above his head as he approached so quickly that he was forced to thump gently against the boards to stop himself.

“Found it?” Celestino turned to his new student immediately. Esteban leant forward, bracing both hands against his tingling knees as he _breathed_ , and watched them silently.

“My free program!” Yuuri announced, pulling one of the earbuds from his ears and offering it to Celestino enthusiastically. “I was looking through some of the conten- contemporary playlists that you gave me, and I _finally_ found it!”

“Well? Let me hear, then!” Celestino said eagerly, taking the earbud and holding it close to his own ear as Yuuri fumbled for the button.

Esteban could only watch silently, standing no more than five metres from them. The two were hunched close to each other, Celestino nodding slowly, his eyes brightening and fingers tapping to some song that Esteban couldn’t hear. Yuuri was shining, almost vibrating with excitement and nervous energy as his eyes darted between Celestino’s face, and the iPod he held between them.

Celestino was nodding faster. A smile spreading over his face. Yuuri’s own smile grew further in response. They were blinding to look at.

“Yes,” Celestino said slowly, and then faster, and faster. “Yes, yes, yes! This is wonderful, Yuuri! The theme – the message-?”

“A memorable goodbye,” Yuuri said happily, almost proudly. Esteban straightened from his half-crouch, eyes still fixed on the two.

“Yes. Yuuri – I adore this music. I think it will work wonderfully,” Celestino beamed. “We must get started on the choreography as soon as possible – have you considered-?”

Esteban dropped his eyes. Turned, and left.

 

* * *

 [Monday]

[May 24, 2010]

[11:57am]

 

Yuuri wasn’t landing the quad, not yet. He carried an almost permanent bruise around his torso now, from the catch of the rig against his increasingly impressive falls. It wasn’t comfortable, but it was still better than the broken bones and endless concussion he would no doubt have earned if he had been trying the quad free against the ice.

Celestino had been giving him endless advice, and had even taken him aside that morning to run him through a slow-motion stock video of his retired star, Jacque, performing the jump flawlessly at the 2007 Worlds.

The motions were beginning to become familiar, almost second nature. The power of his entry had already become stronger than when he began, and Yuuri almost didn’t think twice before pushing himself up into an impossibly fast spin as quick as his hips could rotate.

But it wasn’t enough.

Yuuri panted as he worked through the last of the ache in his legs, standing with his hands on his hips and his arms awkwardly pressing against the trails of the rig as he rested before his next attempt. His eyes lingered over the rink, to where Christophe was carefully stepping through the sequence for his short program, to where Theresa was smiling happily while she practiced pieces of her own new routine, and then finally beyond them both, to where Esteban was-

A loud, hollow clack echoed Esteban’s landing, as he spun out of a flawless quad Salchow.

Yuuri’s fingers tightened against the flesh of his hips, and he tried – almost failed – to tear his eyes away.

It wasn’t quite cruel, seeing someone so much older and more experienced than him throw a perfect quad out onto the ice like it was nothing. But the thing that got to Yuuri, that made his legs shake a little whenever Esteban’s practice turned to his jumps, was the way Esteban would look at him when he landed.

It wasn’t accusing. It wasn’t smug. It was almost … daring. Yes, daring Yuuri to do the same, to perform the jump as faultlessly as Esteban had.

Yuuri shuddered at the look, and moved back to his lead in. _Again._

This jump was messy. His spin was off-centre, and it showed with the punishing catch against the rig. Yuuri bit back a groan, circled about the ice, and readied himself for the next attempt.

 _Clack_.

His eyes drawn against his will.

 _I dare you to land a quad_.

Yuuri stiffened, and pointedly looked back to the ice before him, to where Celestino was watching and waiting patiently. A deep breath in, a cautious build of speed, a careful control of his body, his limbs, and-

Another breath punched out of him, another bounce against the rig. Yuuri could almost feel the eyes, piercing from across the room.

“Yuuri.”

Yuuri breathed slowly, and turned to his coach, deliberately turning his back on the older skater across the room.

“Yes, coach?” Yuuri asked in a quiet voice.

Celestino sighed.

“Yuuri. I may not be as young as you are, but I’m not blind,” Celestino said, letting the rope to the rig coil absently around one hand. “You’re nervous, Yuuri-ino. What is going on, here? Do I need to be concerned?”

Yuuri blinked, and barely stopped himself from cringing.

“I don’t-”

“Yuuri, if Esteban is giving you a hard time, I need to you to come to me, okay?” Celestino said in an even lower voice, so quiet that Yuuri almost couldn’t hear him.

“Oh – no, he isn’t …” Yuuri quickly raised his hands in a placating wave, rushing to dispel any misconception Celestino might have. “I mean, we don’t really talk … at all? He isn’t giving me a hard time, or anything! He’s just being … distant, I think?”

“I can see the way he is looking at you, Yuuri-ino,” Celestino said in the same quiet voice, a voice that wouldn’t carry across the rink to the other skaters. “Is it the rig? The training? Do you know?” Yuuri was quiet, ducking his head as the pause stretched on.

“No,” Yuuri finally said, looking away from Celestino, away from the _eyes_ that had been watching him all morning. “I … maybe? I don’t know why …”

Celestino grunted and looked away from them both, brow furrowing a little in what Yuuri thought to be displeasure.

“Alright. Alright, Yuuri … I can’t stop Esteban from feeling or thinking whatever he pleases. That isn’t my place, and it wouldn’t right. But I _can_ step in and help you.” Celestino leant down and forward a little, until he was closer to Yuuri in eye height, and Yuuri couldn’t help but meet Celestino’s eyes as he spoke. “This isn’t about him, Yuuri. Everything we’re doing here is for you. We are doing this at your pace, in your own time, in your own way. He doesn’t matter here, Yuuri-ino. All you need to focus on now is you, your body, and my instruction. You have your music for your free program, you have everything you need – all your need to focus on now is the quad. _Si_?”

Yuuri took a breath. Long and slow. But he kept his eyes on Celestino’s, and finally he nodded.

“ _Si_ ,” Yuuri tried, smiling with Celestino at his attempt at Italian, and Celestino reached out to pat Yuuri’s shoulder once before they returned to their starting positions. Yuuri took his final breath before the movement, focussing his thoughts to a narrow tunnel of _ice, body, Celestino, rig, move, move, move-_

This time the lead in was smoother, quicker. Yuuri pushed off cleanly, spun a fraction less than four turns, and caught only against the rig at the very last quarter, when his arms that had caught against the rig on the lead-in threw him off time for the landing by a hair of a second.

The eyes were still there, still piercing from across the room. But Yuuri couldn’t feel them.

He was getting closer.

 

 

* * *

[Tuesday]

[May 24, 2010]

[01:05pm]

 

“Yuuri!”                                                                                               

Yuuri turned at the voice to find Christophe casually approaching, sliding to a halt beside him with an unnecessary flick of his skates. Yuuri smiled at the exaggerated movement, and the tension in his shoulders faded a little at the easy look on Christophe’s face.

“Hey,” Yuuri greeted him softly, finally folding the rig against the wooden boards and letting it slip from his fingers. “What is it?”

“Do I really need a reason to come and see my favourite rinkmate?” Christophe quipped with a heavy wink, and Yuuri flushed even as he laughed at Christophe’s dramatic flair. Christophe smiled, relaxing the oppressively flirtatious atmosphere, and settled against the wall beside Yuuri. “Although, as it so happens … I have an idea. I’ve – well, I’ve been seeing you with Celestino, on the rig?” Yuuri immediately stiffened, and Christophe quickly raised his hands in defence. “Please, Yuuri, listen to me?” Yuuri paused, before nodding reluctantly. “It’s just - you need help with managing your quad, yes? Well, as it so happens – I have something in my routine that I think you could help me with, too. So, how about a deal? I’ll help with your quad, if you help me with my problem.”

Yuuri’s first reaction was disbelief. What on earth was there in Christophe’s routine that Yuuri, overwhelmingly inexperienced Yuuri, could help with? His second reaction was shame, a deep, hot curdle in his stomach. Did he really look so terrible when he was attempting his quads, that Christophe could see that he needed help?

But then, surprisingly, Yuuri became aware of a deep, subtle flush of anticipation. He had never helped anyone with their skating, beyond shyly adjusting Yuuko’s arms or posture as children attempting Viktor’s routines for the first time. And even more, he had never had a truly experienced skater help him with his techniques before, outside of official coaching.

Yuuri turned the idea through his mind, this idea that he could learn from one of the greatest skaters in the world – and then, the idea that one of the greatest skaters in the world thought that he had something to learn from _Yuuri_.

Hesitantly, Yuuri smiled.

“I – yes, if you want,” Yuuri said carefully, moving against the boards as Christophe smiled in relief. “If you really think I could help …?”

“Of course you can help, your step sequences are, just – _meraviglioso_ ,” the word rolled off Christophe’s tongue with a cheeky smile, and Yuuri frowned a little as he worked the translation through his mind. It was a little frustrating, needing to translate first from Italian to English, and then again from English to Japanese, but the more time he spent here, the easier his English was becoming, and so, it only took a few seconds before-

“Wonderful?” Yuuri translated tentatively, and Christophe beamed at him with a cheerful nod.

“Wonderful, marvellous – exactly!” Christophe confirmed. Yuuri’s initial pride at having translated the word correctly quickly turned into a red blush as he processed the compliment.

“I – uh, thank you,” Yuuri stammered awkwardly, and Christophe let out a small laugh.

“It is nothing but the truth, _topolino_. Now – the piece I need help with.” Christophe paused, and actually looked a little awkward. Yuuri blinked in surprise. “You see … last season, Joseph had me pushing the sequences, from variety to complexity-” Yuuri nodded in understanding – the push from level three to level four sequences was one he had successfully made himself only last season, but the mechanics behind it had been headache inducing, “-and so he pushed me to include _this._ ”

Christophe pulled his phone from his back pocket – Yuuri actually had to bite back a deeply ingrained reprimand, because one of the first things Coach Nishigori had taught him was to _never_ bring your phone out onto the ice – and swiped the lock screen open. Yuuri blinked when he caught a flash of a conversation, with a green text bubble ( _pink?? u trying to say something?? ;P_ ) leaping out to catch Yuuri’s eye before it shrank away. Christophe quickly opened his media player, already paused on a raw skating edit from last season.

Yuuri recognised the Italian rink _Palavela_ from last year’s Worlds immediately, complete with a high ceiling and layered crowds. Christophe was the centre of focus, paused in a lunge across the massive ice floor. He was dressed in a plum button-down shirt, and tight black trousers that had snippets of skin flashing through hatching patterns along his thighs and calves. Yuuri suddenly remembered seeing the image among the highlights of the routine posted to YouTube, when Yuuko had interrupted his finals studying frenzy to show him the official ISU release, although Christophe’s name hadn’t been attached to the image.

“Watch,” Christophe said simply, and he leaned in as he tapped the screen to start the video. The frozen image burst into movement, the pixelated Christophe quickly moving across the distance of the rink, and the camera shifted to a new and closer view. Yuuri watched Christophe’s form as he approached the step sequence. It was on par with many of the step sequences seen at the Senior men’s level – which was to say that it was flashy without being overly complex, with a number of intermediate steps linked by connecting turns that could be easily broken into components.

_Step, step – some arm work here, for the choreography, and – huh?_

On screen, Christophe pushed forward on his left skate, his right skate swung around, rotated fully the other way, ready to catch his weight, and-

His arms rose too quickly, spinning against the counterbalance of the shift from the forward-facing left skate to the backward-facing right. The left skate nearly cut into the path of the right, but then Christophe’s arms worked against the movement, and he quickly and smoothly transitioned back to his left skate, carrying on with the routine with only the slightest hesitation.

To the untrained eye, it probably looked intentional. A hesitation as the right skate caught the ice – it could have been part of the routine.

But dragging the video back and watching the movement again, Yuuri could see a moment when the other side of the double-edged blade grazed the ice, an inside edge that had absolutely no business touching down for this step.

“This here – this was meant to be a – a Kilian Choctaw?” Yuuri asked, after spending a frustrating moment dragging the slider back until it replayed the shaky move, while simultaneously trying to remember the English name for the complicated backward-teasing step.

“Yes,” Christophe nodded with a put-upon look and a small roll of his eyes. “Yes, Joseph _insisted,_ after seeing one of Yakov’s female skaters the season before.”

“You – well, you, uh, lost technical points for double-edging the step,” Yuuri hesitated on the advice, sure that Christophe had already noticed.

“Yes – Celestino told me this as well. He believes – well, I want to see what you think first, yes? Celestino has not done a Choctaw like this for decades, Yuuri, I want to know what you _feel_ I have done wrong.”

“I think …” Yuuri dragged the video a few seconds behind, playing the catch against the ice once more. “Could you show me? I mean, here? Now?”

“Of course!” Christophe handed Yuuri the phone and backed away, drawing up a little speed with deep pumps of his legs, before sliding past Yuuri and switching out his feet in the flashy manoeuvre that would have been perfect but for the catch at its peak. “See?” Christophe cried, circling back and sliding to a halt beside Yuuri. “Now, tell me what you think!”

Yuuri tapped his fingers against the edge of the phone, running the motion though his mind. _Push forward, twist the leg around, arms to counterbalance, he leans, the skate catches, and-_

“It’s the wrong angle,” Yuuri said out loud, definitely. “Your right skate, when it catches, it’s at the wrong angle. It still has a – a small bit of the turn still to go. So, when you shift to the right skate, you are also pushing the skate into the turn a little more, instead of just moving forward. It pushes you off balance, and when you pull back to correct it – your inner edge touches the ice, just a little bit.”

Christophe was nodding in agreement, but not in realisation.

“Yes, this is also what Celestino has told me,” Christophe confirmed Yuuri’s suspicions. Yuuri deflated a little, feeling that his insight had been useless after all. “No, no Yuuri - this is good! Perhaps you can help me fix the problem! Celestino has only said ‘ _Turn_ before _the edge, Christophe, you must rotate fully before you even think of touching the ice!’_ … which is no help at all, of course,” Christophe sighed with dramatic exaggeration, and Yuuri had to cough back a laugh at his impersonation of their coach – Christophe had managed to pitch his voice _just_ right. “So – do you have any advice for me?”

Yuuri paused to think for a moment before he nodded cautiously, handing Christophe his phone back. Yuuri moved his legs into the crossed position that would be needed for the change-over, and gestured down pointedly.

“Here,” Yuuri drew Christophe’s eyes to his feet, which were parallel and facing opposite directions, not unlike the fifth position he assumed in ballet. “You need to practice this position off ice, as much as you can. I’ve – I’ve been doing this for years, in ballet, so it comes naturally to me. You can do it too! You just need to push - ah, rotate your hips as much as you can, so that you are ready for the turn. You need stretches. And you need to practice them, on- and off-ice.” Yuuri gave a small, shy shrug. “You need to build your flexibility, in your hips and-” Yuuri immediately forgot the English word for the muscles surrounding the area, and gave it up as a lost cause, “-your hips and legs, so that your body can make the full turn … if that makes sense?”

“Ballet, hmm?” Christophe repeated, nodding slowly. “Yes, that makes sense. Could you show me some of the stretches? When we cool down?”

“Sure!” Yuuri beamed, and a small pocket of warmth was bubbling up his throat at the thought that he had been _helpful_.

“But before that,” Christophe smiled at Yuuri thankfully, hands on his hips as he appraised the younger skater. “I believe I owe you some quad-jumping tips, hmm?”

Yuuri smiled in return, feeling a little awkward at the idea of his friend essentially giving him advice on how to compete against him, but welcomed the advice none-the-less.

“So – I’ve been watching you on the rig, and – uh,” Christophe suddenly looked awkward, and tapped the phone on again, swiping through a handful of videos before settling on one of-

“You filmed me?” Yuuri blurted out, shock and embarrassment and nervousness flooding through him as he eyed the grainy figure on the tiny screen. He could make out the lines of the rig, and could see Celestino with his distinct ponytail trailing along behind him. “I – I didn’t see you! When-?”

“Uh, yesterday,” Christophe said, holding the phone back a little and rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m sorry I didn’t ask, Yuuri – I won’t do it again, if it makes you uncomfortable. But I – well, I had thought of the idea that I wanted to help, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to do so without a recording. I will delete it after, if you want, yes?”

Yuuri was still staring at the phone, but the initial shock of the moment had passed. He could see how useful the video would be now, but that didn’t mean that he was entirely pleased with how Christophe had gone about it.

“I … I don’t mind. But, please, ask next time?” Yuuri finally said, before gingerly taking the phone from Christophe. Yuuri hesitated before meeting Christophe’s eyes, in time for Christophe to nod solemnly and offer Yuuri an apologetic smile.

“Of course, Yuuri,” Christophe said warmly, and Yuuri smiled back, and everything was forgiven. “Now – here.” Christophe tapped the screen, and the video began to playback. There was a strange moment where Yuuri had to adjust to the idea that the person moving on the screen was _him_. He had seen videos of himself before, but never at such an early stage of his training.

It was like he could _see_ the flaws, seconds before they happened.

There, the line of the rig rocked back and forth a little as his arm grazed it, and the tension pulled him off-centre.

There, his entry was completely off centre, and his landing would have probably sent him into a hospital if Celestino hadn’t been there to catch him.

There, his arms were entirely too loose, and it didn’t surprise him in the slightest when he failed to complete the four rotations necessary for the jump.

“What would you-” Yuuri started, but-

“Keep watching, _topolino_ ,” Christophe interrupted in a low murmur, and Yuuri blinked before looking obediently back down to the video.

He was circling around, Yuuri could see his arms and legs shaking out nervously. Yuuri could see his own head, darting back to one corner of the rink, again and again and again. _What was I looking at-_

Oh.

The tiny Celestino on the screen raised a hand, calling Yuuri over, and although he couldn’t hear the conversation, Yuuri remembered what Celestino had said. A smile flitted over his face – and then the on-screen Yuuri was waving his hands, settling slowly into the calm of Celestino, and then nodding, moving back to his starting position, pushing forward into the next attempt at the quad toe loop, and-

Yuuri blinked.

 _Wow_.

 _Was that-? Was that_ me?

Christophe’s arm reached forward to pause the video with a quick, firm tap, before pulling Yuuri’s shoulder around carefully so that they were facing each other squarely.

“What did Celestino say to you, Yuuri?” Christophe asked, and his voice wasn’t quite teasing, but it still had an edge of _meaning_ that caught Yuuri’s attention. “Because whatever it was, it did more for your progress than a week of on-ice training has. You almost _had_ it!”

“He told me – uh,” Yuuri froze as suddenly remembered the _other_ focus of the conversation, and blinked over Christophe’s shoulder to see whether those eyes were also on the rink, watching. They weren’t – Esteban wasn’t to be seen in the rink at all, when Yuuri thought to look – but something was still holding Yuuri back, and he awkwardly edited his response before he allowed himself to speak again. “He told me to focus on … me? My style, my pace. Not – not what anyone else was thinking, or wanting. Just me.”

“Well, it worked,” Christophe said with an eye-crinkling smile, and he replayed that jump alone, letting Yuuri see again the near-perfection of that single attempt, a jump that made Yuuri’s breath catch in almost-pride. “You should focus on that feeling, whatever it was that got you through that jump. The others, after – none were as good as this one. Something Celestino said, helped you through that jump. The advice I’m going to give you is – figure out what that feeling was, and _use_ it.”

Yuuri smiled, and nodded. It echoed the advice that Celestino had given him before, it defined Yuuri’s style, it resonated deeply with everything he knew about the way he was meant to skate.

It was the best sort of advice that Christophe could give.

“Thank you, Christophe,” Yuuri said, and he meant it with every inch of him. Yuuri smiled at an idea, scrambled for the memory, and then repeated, “ _Grazie tanto_.”

Christophe laughed, and responded with a far more fluent, almost purring,

“ _Di niente, topolino_. You have nothing to thank me for.”


	6. Introductions [Part 5]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’d like to thank [Piyo13](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Piyo13/pseuds/Piyo13) for correcting my Italian, and [lylilunapotter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lylilunapotter/pseuds/lylilunapotter) for correcting Yuuri’s ballet, you guys were a massive and awesome help! <3

[Thursday]

[June 3, 2010]

[2:14pm]

 

When Yuuri had first begun competing at the Junior level, he had often daydreamed about what it might be like to be among the lofty Senior ranks, and in particular, to receive his first Senior Grand Prix assignment. The dream would sometimes involve a dramatic midnight call from the JSF, sometimes a sit-down with his coach in a dark-lit office, or possibly even a dry, deadpan reveal on an obscure sports channel that would catch his attention from across a dusky room. The occasion was going to be memorable, either way, and significant in that it signalled the beginning of a new era for him. It was going to be a moment to cherish. It was going to be special for him.

It actually happened as he and his roommate left a midday viewing of _Sex and the City 2_.

“Aah, that diamond was beautiful,” Christophe groaned as they walked out of the cinema, dropping empty boxes of popcorn in the bins as they passed. “What did you think, hmm, Yuuri?”

Yuuri sighed, taking a sip at his sugar-free Sprite to buy a little time as he tried, again – and failed, _again_ – to process the last two hours.

“I – uh. I think that watching films in English without voiceovers or subtitles is strange?” Yuuri finally admitted, before glancing down at the unusually large cup in his hand. “And I think American drinks are much bigger than the ones back home. Is … this _really_ a medium?”

“ _Yuu_ -ri, that’s not what I meant,” Christophe whined plaintively. Yuuri couldn’t hold back a small laugh that his diversion had been so easily seen through. “What did you think of the movie? Did you like it? Hate it? _Adore_ it? Did you like it more than the first one? More than the show?” Yuuri hesitated in his answer, knowing what Christophe’s reaction would likely be, before sighing and continuing reluctantly,

“It … was a show?”

“ _What_.” Christophe pulled them both to a halt, grabbing Yuuri’s arm and tugging him a little to meet his eyes with a look of wounded betrayal. “Yuuri, you – why didn’t you _tell_ me?” Christophe cried, before pulling Yuuri’s arm determinedly as they walked through the wide, geometric corridors of the indoor shopping mall. “We need to return home this instant, _topolino_. You have so much to see, to learn! I can’t _believe_ -”

Yuuri resigned himself to being pulled along with only token resistance, back towards the bus line he and Christophe had taken to the shopping centre. The morning of their regular mid-week rest day had been spent wandering through the shops, with Yuuri in particular finding amusement in exploring American chain-stores he had only ever heard of in Japan.

But then, Christophe had insisted that they see the apparently much-anticipated film. Yuuri had protested weakly, blinked through the dizzyingly bright opening, and then muddled his way through the remainder with absolutely _no_ idea what was going on. It was so overwhelmingly occidental that it almost bridged the gap between Yuuri’s insular life at the rink, and the wider American experience that he hadn’t really tasted yet. It was flamboyant, and more sexually charged than anything he had seen before. It was _bizarre_.

Christophe was still talking, as they exited through to the tepid early-summer air and moved through a thin passage of pedestrians towards the arterial road. Still talking enthusiastically on Yuuri’s betrayal, Christophe took a seat at the bus stop. Yuuri pulled his phone out to check the time against the faded timetable printed on scratched paper – and then, without warning, his heart seized.

 

T-Mobile                             51%

2:21  
Thursday, June 3

 

 

Celestino Cialdini                  2:01 PM  
Assignments                                       
The Grand Prix assignments have…

 

 

slide to unlock

 

“ _Kuh-”_ Yuuri spluttered as he drew in a startled breath, bit on his well-chewed straw, and tried to grab Christophe’s attention all at once. Coughing against the bubbly sprite caught in his now raw throat, Yuuri finally managed to grab Christophe’s shoulder and point his phone in the other’s general direction. “ _Christophe!_ ”

Christophe glanced over, caught the email alert on Yuuri’s phone, breathed “oh, _shit_ ,” and then jumped for his own tucked into the back of his jeans. Yuuri pulled his phone back and quickly unlocked the screen, opening the email directly and feeling his heart pounding as he did so.

 

T-Mobile                             50%

Inbox                   1 of 24                    

From: Celestino Cialdini                 

Assignments                                       
June 3, 2010  2:01 PM                     

 

 

Loading…

 

 

 

 

“ _Hurry up_ ,” Yuuri murmured in impatient Japanese, falling into the seat beside Christophe and resisting the urge to refresh the email, knowing that it would only slow it down. Christophe was muttering beside him as well, his knee bouncing up and down as Italian too quick for Yuuri to catch slipped from his lips-

Text appeared on the screen, flooding down and then breaking into a table that was almost too small for him to see – a table with six columns and a dozen names under each headline. Ignoring Celestino’s preamble, Yuuri pinched the screen larger and squinted through his glasses as he tried to decipher the mess of text.

“Skate Canada,” he breathed as he found the romanisation of his name _Yuuri Katsuki_ tucked into the third-to-last row of the second event.

“Cup of China,” Christophe replied, peering into his own screen as he thumbed through the email. “Mm. Esteban will be with you in Canada,” Christophe commented quietly, shooting a small side-glance to Yuuri. Yuuri chewed gently on his lower lip, deliberately ignoring the way his stomach clenched at the thought of _those eyes_ watching him from across the rink. He moved to the next column deliberately, only to see-

“Esteban, at Skate America,” Yuuri muttered. He only glanced over the rest of the names, knowing he wouldn’t be among them – _they wouldn’t assign us to two of the same qualifiers in the same year –_ but brightened a little when he saw _Kousuke Shimizu_ , winner of Japanese Nationals for three years running, printed just two lines below Esteban’s.

“The Cup of Russia … no one we know,” Christophe mumbled distractedly, drawing Yuuri’s attention to the next column as well, before they both slowly straightened as they turned to the last event. “ _No_ – does that mean-?”

“Tropheé de France!” Yuuri said brightly, fumbling the pronunciation and quickly scrolling over the names to pick out both his and Christophe’s. Yuuri turned to Christophe, beaming. “We’ll be skating together!”

Christophe grinned and looped his arm around Yuuri’s shoulder, pulling him into a playful hug as they sat side-by-side on the pitted wooden bench. Yuuri let himself be manhandled, his momentary worry over Skate Canada fading away when he realised that his newest friend would be there alongside him in France.

“Ah, this is perfect, _topolino_!” Christophe was crowing, shaking Yuuri a little in his excitement. “I’ve been to Paris many times, I can show you the best places to eat – ooh, the best places to _dance_ , yes, for when the competition is over?” Christophe nudged Yuuri with a gleam in his eye, and Yuuri settled a little under the weight of Christophe’s arm.

“Maybe we should focus on the competition first?” Yuuri countered playfully. Christophe laughed as he retracted his arm to flick about on his phone, exiting from the mail app and opening a message thread.

“I’ll have you dancing, Yuuri, just you wait,” Christophe smiled, not maliciously, but rather with fond determination. His fingers were tapping out a quick rhythm on the screen, and Yuuri turned away politely, glancing out instead to see whether their bus was approaching yet. The corners of his mouth were stretching almost against his will, and it was taking a surprising amount of effort not to squirm _._

Yuuri was finally going to get a chance to stand with the most talented and successful ice skaters in the world. He was going to be there among them as an equal, a competitor. He was going to skate in front of them, he was going to speak to them on level terms for the very first time.

Yuuri was looking forward to this.

 

* * *

 [Friday]

[June 4, 2010]

[1:49pm]

 

“Yuuri!”

Yuuri turned at the call of his coach, drew an arm over his sweat-damp forehead, and slowly made his way to the edge of the rink.

“Yes, coach?” Yuuri asked as he plucked his water bottle from where he was balancing on the boards and drew a generous mouthful as Celestino spoke.

“Christophe and I are almost done for today – when you’re finished, head up for a shower, then meet me in the viewing room. It’s time we sat down for a talk about the coming season.”

Celestino was leaning against the boards beside the entrance to the ice, eyes fixed and following Christophe as he moved across the ice and began to push into a quad salchow. Yuuri half-turned to watch as well, in time to see Christophe snag the landing, deliberately crumple so as to soften the blow, and then give a sharp, loud shout of frustration that echoed as he slid away.

“Lighter, Christophe!” Celestino called, as Christophe began to pick himself up. “You can do better than that, huh?”

Christophe levered off his knees as he straightened, waved a dismissive hand in Celestino’s direction, and began a slow run-around of the rink to shake out his legs. Celestino turned back to Yuuri, sighing.

“Go on, up you go,” Celestino said with a matter-of-fact nod in the direction of the stairs. Yuuri balanced himself off the ice and onto his guards, before sitting with his back against the boards to loosen the ties. “Don’t forget to stretch out first,” was Celestino’s parting comment as he moved around the edge of the rink for a better view of Christophe’s next salchow. Yuuri tugged his second skate off with a small grunt of effort.

“Right,” Yuuri said softly, briefly rubbing his thumb hard into the arch of his foot, before sighing and leveraging himself up.

He was distracted during his stretches. Sure, Yuuri had been expecting Celestino’s talk about the coming season after the Grand Prix assignments had been released. There were arrangements to be made; his routines, his costumes, the legalities, there were _so_ many things they hadn’t really finalised. Yuuri thought to himself that he knew exactly what was in store, he already knew everything that was going to be said, and there was nothing to be concerned about.  

So why did he suddenly feel so worried?

Yuuri dipped down to press his forehead against his knees, his mind seized with anticipation. He _had_ been assigned, it was confirmed – except for the technical qualifier, that is. Yuuri had his songs, he had one full routine and the outline of another. He was doing well … wasn’t he?

Breathing out slowly and heavily as he released from the final stretch, Yuuri scooped up his gym bag and made his way through to the reception area.

The upstairs lockers were quiet. Yuuri lost himself in the now-familiar room, with its white-washed walls and wooden floors, and the single light in the shower itself that cast the rest of the locker room into yellow-shaded black. Yuuri closed his eyes against the heat of the water, feeling his muscles loosen and flex as he shifted, and ignored the sting of a blister on his smallest toe that almost never went away.

He shouldn’t be nervous. Right? Celestino hadn’t said anything _bad_. He just wanted to talk.

Yuuri dressed quickly, drying his hair and slipping his glasses back on, before passing down the corridor into the adjacent viewing room in his most comfortable post-workout clothes, complete with soft white socks that shifted along the floor quietly.

The massive metal-frame ceiling of the _Arena_ was lit through the windows of the viewing room, and it made the small informal lounge look even bigger. Yuuri moved slowly over to the window, and looked down to see Christophe edging the boards confidently, while Celestino’s arms waved and gesticulated from the rink-side.

Then Christophe’s landing turned out and he rolled to his back dramatically, before he waved one arm as if to push Celestino away. Yuuri could see Celestino’s head shaking, and then he saw Celestino turn, and leave, and-

 _He’s coming now_.

Yuuri retreated to the softest of the mismatched couches, the one that was sagging in the middle with a faded croquet throw over its back. He tucked himself against one plush arm, pulling his feet underneath his thighs as he curled into the corner and told himself _you have nothing to worry about_.

The doorknob shifted.

“Yuuri! Good, you’re here,” Celestino beamed as he entered the room, and Yuuri could already feel one of the thin steel bands about his chest loosening. Celestino wouldn’t have that smile on his face if he carried bad news. “We’ll get straight to it, then – we have a lot to cover, and I want to make sure we’re on track for the coming year.” Celestino moved across to the large, heavy wooden desk in the far centre of the room, framed by overflowing metal filing cabinets, and with a huge calendar pinned to the wall behind it. Casually perched on top of the desk, Celestino continued, “You have read the email I have forwarded to you yesterday?”

“Yes,” Yuuri nodded once, and he couldn’t help smiling just a little. “It’s – the Grand Prix assignments, right? Canada and France.”

“Yes, yes. What do you think, hmm?” Celestino asked teasingly. “Are you excited?”

The smile on Yuuri’s face broke into a broad grin.

“Definitely.”

“Good!” Celestino looked pleased as he settled back onto the desk. “You will need that for the season to come. I want to see you skate well, Yuuri, but more importantly, I want to see you enjoy yourself. You must be comfortable when you skate, and you must always enjoy yourself, or it will be an empty victory.”

Yuuri nodded in acceptance of the reminder; it was something Minako would often tell him when he had done dance recitals as a pre-teen, before he became serious about ice skating.

“But first, before we even think of the competition, we need to get you there.” Celestino plucked his thick plastic clipboard from the side of the desk, flipped the first page, and drew out a branded _Detroit Skate Club_ pen from under the metal clip. “Now … I don’t want to scare you, or worry you, but there are many things we need to consider. Until now, we’ve been having fun on the rink, learning about each other and trying out new things. But it’s time to take the kiddy gloves off.”

Yuuri braced himself against the couch almost subconsciously.

“You already have your songs, and your programs are coming along nicely.” Celestino moved the pen down along the clipboard, as if he were ticking off a list. Yuuri’s eyes followed the motion carefully. “Not to mention, you are well on your way to the quad toe loop. You almost have it – I can _feel_ it, you’ll be landing it any day, now!” Yuuri’s mouth twitched gently in hopeful agreement, a small curl of pride warming him. “Now, it is time to start finalising the details. We need to discuss your jump roster, the order of your technical elements, the timing, and we need to fine-tune your steps and choreography. We need to start thinking of your costumes, and also of your exhibition skate for the year. We need to get licences for your songs, and consider alternatives if we cannot.”

Yuuri nodded, cautiously. This was nothing he hadn’t done before. In Japan, his jump roster, technical elements, choreography, and costumes had always been perfected under the eye of Minako and Coach Nishigori, with some help from the JSF when he began to rise at the Junior level.

“All of this means that your on-ice training sessions will need to be longer as the competitions grow nearer, especially if you want to land that quad consistently by season’s end.” Celestino was an unstoppable force as he carried on down his checklist with the efficiency of an experienced coach. “We’ll also need to start considering your on-season diet, and look at off-ice conditioning to get your body into competition form.”

 _Longer hours_. Yuuri mentally looked over his current week, taking note of the break days he had been given – Thursday, and both Saturday and Sunday, although he often spent time in the studio for ballet practice during the weekends. Their on-ice training had never gone longer than four hours at once, although they were occasionally accompanied by a small hour of conditioning and core-strength exercises. It was a far cry from the long evenings and endless days Yuuri could remember in the lead up to his final Juniors year, and the memory and thought of more left a phantom ache in his joints.

“And speaking of competitions.” _There’s more?_ Yuuri blinked in genuine surprise – so far, everything that they had covered were things he was already familiar with, and he couldn’t imagine what else they might have to talk about. “Soon we’ll need to start planning your itinerary, the flights and such, so that I can submit these to the ISU and get your visas sorted out. We need to submit a new photo to the ISU, and the JSF, along with your weight and height and so on, as well as a press statement for your coming season. The JSF needs to send through your team uniform for the coming year, and you’ll need to decide how you’ll handle the press conferences while you’re in America, instead of Japan.”

 _That_ was new.

Flights, visas, forms – Yuuri supposed that Coach Nishigori had always handled those for him. In his naiveite, Yuuri had always taken the tickets pressed onto him by his coach and simply flown where he was directed, stayed for as long as he was told. Was Celestino going to expect him to arrange these himself, now? Not to mention … press statements? _Conferences?_ The thought hadn’t even crossed Yuuri’s mind, and a small flush of shy dismay crossed over him at the thought.

“And then, against all of this, you are going to need to balance university, starting in August, yes?”

 _Oh._ Yuuri blinked. Of course – how could he have forgotten?

“You’re going to have classes, and tests, and exams, and they _are_ going to clash with your skating, no matter how you try to schedule it.” Celestino continued despite Yuuri’s small thrill, apparently having not noticed it. “You’re going to spend weekends and evenings studying, to make up for time lost to competitions. And although I am pleased that you have decided to take dance … the physicality worries me. You’re going to need to manage your time very, very carefully.”

Yuuri had known all of this months ago when he’d researched the Wayne State offerings, when he’d tentatively contacted the university, when he’d submitted his application video, and especially when he’d spoken to an advisor about arranging an unusually lightened course-load. He had accepted the higher load back then, thinking that it would be no different than balancing high school. But somehow …

“And for now,” Celestino was winding down, letting the papers on his clipboard curl back into place, “that is everything we need to worry about.”

Well.

Yuuri always approached his skating seasons with a healthy dose of worry, sure. He was a little anxious at the thought of meeting his fellow skaters at the senior level – but skating itself was always where Yuuri’s greatest focus had been. _Would his jumps be enough to carry him through? Would his steps be smooth and flawless? Would his message be heard?_

Never had Yuuri considered that his time _off_ the ice, that the weeks and months of preparation and training and careful balancing, would bring the squeeze of nerves to his chest.

“Now. Yuuri-" Celestino paused, waiting until he had Yuuri's full attention, and Yuuri quickly gave it. “I know that this is likely overwhelming. I know that this is a lot - and because of that, there is one more thing I want to say to you." The words hung for a moment, and Celestino’s eyes were bright and intense, but Yuuri couldn’t look away, waiting, worrying. Then, finally – “ _I am your coach._ ” And that _wasn’t_ what Yuuri had been expecting. “I am your coach, and that means that I am here to support you, and help you through all of these decisions. This is going to be a time of adjustment for you, a step up to the next level, and it is going to be _hard_. If you aren’t careful, Yuuri, I’m worried that you could burn out.”

 _But I won’t_ , Yuuri thought desperately.

“But you won’t,” Celestino said firmly. “Do you know why?”

Quietly, hesitantly, “Why?”

“Because I am here for you. To support you, and help you in any way I can. You will survive this season, Yuuri, on your own strength, and on mine. That I can guarantee.”

The breath Yuuri was holding slipped out steadily, and with it, the tension in Yuuri’s shoulders.

It was as if Yuuri had been through an entire day of practice all over again.

He felt wrung out, not just physically exhausted, but emotionally as well. First the excitement, and then worry at the thought of everything that was to come – all of it, channelled down to one thought.

 _I’m here for you_.

“And the first decision we’re going to make, together,” Celestino finished, his pen at the bottom of the page, the list complete, “is where you are going to skate to qualify for the Grand Prix series.”

Yuuri looked up, and beyond Celestino to where the wall calendar was pinned. September had a single innocuous entry in thick black marker, with another in October. _Nebelhorn, or Finlandia_.

“Do you want to get it over with, at Nebelhorn? Skate while the programs are fresh, so that you’ll have more time to prepare for Skate Canada?” Celestino turned as well, sitting heavily against the desk to eye the calendar. “Or would you rather spend more time refining your program for Finlandia? You’ll have less time before your first Grand Prix event, but you’ll score higher. Yuuri?”

Blinking between the two dates, Yuuri thought back to the conversation he’d shared with Minako over the very same thing, back when the announcement of the new technical requirements had been made.

 _“Your personal best is already higher than the ISU’s minimum score_ ,” Minako had said, before knocking back the small cup of sake Yuuri’s mother had poured for her. “ _The score is the least of your problems. It’s your nerves I’m worried about – if you spend too much time thinking about it, you’ll psych yourself out. You’ll be fine! Just_ do _it! Ah – another, Hiroko?”_

“Nebelhorn,” Yuuri said simply, and it felt _right_. “I think … Nebelhorn would be better. If I have too much time … if there’s too much time before the competition, I’ll lose my nerves.” Yuuri laughed, the sound a little bitter and self-deprecating, but a laugh nonetheless. “I want to qualify as soon as I can, so that I can be sure.”

“Good, good,” Celestino nodded, heaving off the desk and moving to the calendar while fishing a permanent marker from a coffee-mug pot on his desk. The date in late September was circled messily. “I’ll have the paperwork sent off later.”

Yuuri sank back into the couch. That was one decision down. There were only a thousand of them left.

“All you need to worry about now are two things, Yuuri,” Celestino was walking back, and Yuuri followed his movements closely. “One. You need an exhibition skate. This can be any song, Yuuri, of any length, of any style. I want you to pick something that you’re comfortable with … but I also want you to have _fun_.”

Yuuri couldn’t fight a small giggle, memories of Christophe’s infamous Britney routine flashing through his mind.

“And two,” Celestino continued with a smile, drawing Yuuri’s attention back, “you need to start thinking about your costumes. I have been using the same designer for years – my sister-in-law, Helen. She is a _magnificent_ talent. Would you like to use her, or do you already have someone in mind?”

“I’ll – her, of course,” Yuuri quickly stammered eagerly. He had seen some of the costumes Celestino’s previous students had boasted. He would have to be an idiot to turn down that level of detail and elegance.

“Then I’ll arrange a first meeting for her next week,” Celestino smiled, and he made a quick note on the first page of his clipboard. “Everything else we’ve talked about today, I can handle for you, if you like. It’s what I’m here for, as your coach, huh? You don’t have to worry about a thing.”

Yuuri nodded eagerly, his face open in blatant relief, and Celestino smiled wryly.

“You’ll be fine, Yuuri-ino, trust me,” Celestino said casually, snapping his pen into the clipboard and flattening the papers back into shape. “I have been doing this for _years_. You’re going to be fine. No … you’re going to be _wonderful_.”

 

* * *

 [Wednesday]

[June 9, 2010]

[11:46am]

 

Yuuri was alone on the ice, and he was revelling in it.

Christophe had taken an unexpected rest day, after returning to the skaters’ home late the night before, and then begging off with a _groin strain._ Esteban had grimaced over his oatmeal, bee-lining for the door while Yuuri watched him leave in no small amount of confusion. Christophe’s cheeky grin had followed Yuuri out, too, when he finally left for the _Arena_ some minutes later. No sooner had he joined Esteban in the tail-end of his stretched, however, was Celestino sweeping in and whisking Esteban away to the studio for an off-ice run through and accompanying balancing exercises, leaving Yuuri with vague instructions to focus the choreography for his free program.

Yuuri banked around the ice happily. Being alone was freeing, in a way. The ice was bare and fresh, like a blank canvas, and the only marks against it were his own. Yuuri didn’t have to keep his awareness about him; instead he could relax and let himself soak in the music like he might have soaked into the onsen after a hard practice. It gave him a chance to reflect, to think, to lose himself in his mind.

The outlines of his routine were loose, rough, and incomplete, and he knew it. Yuuri paced himself through the music of his headphones, ideas and soft movements moving through his body as he began to imagine what the steps might become. A twist here? No, it was too quick for the music. Maybe a spread eagle, to ease against the ebb of the piano, and reveal the longing of his goodbye?

Yuuri liked the idea, and he carefully rewound the music until he could balance through the glide of the spread eagle, enjoying the way it complemented the song.

The music brightened again, and Yuuri eased from the gentle spread into a quick-tap marker for the jump he was planning to post – which reminded him.

 _Figure out what that feeling was_.

The music continued, and Yuuri coasted through the unplanned transitions, mulling the thought.

Yuuri was on the edge of a revelation, on the edge of landing the quad toe loop for the first time, and he wanted nothing more than to take that final step and be done with it. He was ready, he was _more_ than ready. He had spent every spare second his practice combing through his memories, trying desperately to unlock that emotion that had driven him through the weight of the rig.

_Figure out what that feeling was._

_Use it._

_Land the quad toe loop_.

Yuuri huffed, the music came to an end, and the song began again on an endless repeat.

 _This would be a_ lot _easier if I actually knew what I was feeling more than half the time_.

_… oh, what the hell. What do I have to lose?_

Gathering his thoughts, Yuuri pushed into the spread, sighting the ice ahead as he turned out, and then he was on the jump-marker again. He easily picked his way through a double toe loop, with a flair of his free leg and a flex of his shoulders on the landing, imagining the _thank you_ he was offering the audience, the gracious acknowledgement of their attention. Closing his eyes, Yuuri took that feeling and tried to marry it against the video he had seen with Christophe, the conversation with Celestino that he could barely remember.

 _No. That’s not it_.

So, it wasn’t a thank you. He knew from his experiments taken earlier in the week that it wasn’t a hello, either, or a goodbye. It wasn’t a more defined emotion, like happiness, or fear, or love. It wasn’t even a more abstract hunger, desperation, or jealousy. Yuuri wasn’t sure _what_ that feeling was, that had smouldered through him at Celestino’s encouragement and given him the stability he’d needed to centre his momentum.

But he was determined to find it.

Sighing, Yuuri dragged the music on his phone back a full minute, beginning the simple walk-through to the jump marker he was experimenting with.

 _Figure out what that feeling was_.

The familiar stretch of music approached, and Yuuri braced himself. This time the jump was a tense well of cocky arrogance, almost headstrong, and the message Yuuri was desperate to leave – _you won’t forget me_ – shone through in the way his head tilted, his hands mocked, and his legs flicked. Yuuri pictured the audience watching him, the way he would demand their attention and refuse to let it slip. He tried to imagine the hot pride that would swell within him at having landed the _quad toe loop_.

Yuuri landed heavily.

No. It _definitely_ wasn’t that.

Yuuri clicked his phone open, smoothly pushing the music back to his mid-song start point. He waited for the remnants of the last jump to pass, and pushed himself into the leading steps for yet another attempt at trying to figure out _how he had done it-_

 _Think. What was happening? What was I_ thinking _when I tried for that quad?_

Esteban had been _watching_ him. Celestino had noticed, and taken Yuuri aside and comforted him. And somehow, his quad toe loop had been cleaner than it had ever been before, so much so that even Christophe had noticed from across the rink.

The jump was coming. Yuuri gathered his body, checked his line, and held onto the memory of that moment, when Celestino had drawn his attention away from Esteban and leant forward a little and spoken to him plainly, “ _Everything we’re doing here is for you._ ”

The breath that had moved through him then, the sense of security and foundation had pushed him through towards-

_“I’m here for you.”_

_There_.

Yuuri’s eyes widened as he approached the jump, and then – everything _clicked._ Yuuri’s body became a coalition of smooth, sure lines that felt unusually self-aware, and in complete control. His lead-in was a push of subtle power, his pick was only just as hard as it needed to be, and his jump was tight but modestly fast. Yuuri could feel the energy building only as far as it needed to, because another force was building alongside it, a force that told him without fail that he would make this jump, and that he would make it through to see the next set of the routine.

Yuuri landed with a cushioning bend of his knee, turned himself into a curving step, and thought to himself, in a quiet, stunned realisation-

_I never doubted that I would make it._

_That’s it._

Yuuri laughed, unable to hear the way the sound echoed in the empty rink over the crescendo in his headphones.

Support. Confidence. A sure foundation, the knowledge that he had the ability to do this.

 _Celestino has become that, to me,_ Yuuri realised, and he coasted about one end of the rink and made the turn back towards the centre of the ice. _I opened up to him, and he accepted me. He helped me develop my theme, my jumps, he’s helping me with my choreography. He understands me, and he’s pushing me to be better. He doesn’t doubt that I can do it. He’s … never doubted that I could do it, one day._

The music started again, and this time Yuuri traced out the steps with a smile, a yearning reach to his imaginary audience, and a collection of bold, stunning double jumps that were rooted in his navel with that new sense of surety, polished with a shine of confidence.

 _That’s it. I’ve_ got _it._

Breathing at the end of his admittedly incomplete routine, Yuuri shook out his feet and pulled his headphones out before the song could begin for the nth time. He checked the time against his black wristwatch and moved towards the edge of the rink so he could clip on his navy-blue skate guards and hobble out into the lobby.

Celestino would be coming down any minute now with the end of Esteban’s session. Yuuri didn’t have much time, but he was _determined_.

For the first time since he had started at the _Arena_ , Yuuri unhooked a hidden set of keys from under the reception desk, and slipped into the equipment room tucked under the landing to the upper level.

He fumbled for the lights to the closed off room, sniffling a little at the musty smell. A naked bulb flickered white, and Yuuri himself in a surprisingly large storage space stacked with opaque plastic containers and metal-framed shelves, many of them spilling over with cones, flags, knotted rope, wires, fairy lights, and everything in-between. It was a colourful, exciting chaos reminiscent of the sports equipment rooms at Yuuri’s high school, and Yuuri felt a child-like excitement at the sight of it. He quickly set to looking, and only needed to push aside a small fold of canvas before he found it.

The rig was as familiar to Yuuri as his own skates by now; the wear of the Velcro and the cut of the fabric, the feeling of the metal wire running through his fingers. Yuuri scooped the entire box into his arms, and somehow managed his way back through the lobby without turning an ankle, or tripping over a loose fray of carpet.

Setting the rig up was easy, and it gave him the chance to stretch out his legs, keep himself warm and focused.

“Yuuri? What’s all this?”

Yuuri turned to where Celestino was framed by the entrance, having twisted the last of the bolts in place. Yuuri could see Esteban in the space beyond the doorway, gym bag over his shoulder as he glanced over at Yuuri with an unreadable expression. Their eyes met, Esteban’s flashing quickly away to the empty car lot behind him, and Yuuri dismissively returning his focus to the waiting Celestino.

“I want to try the quad again,” Yuuri said firmly, hands propped on his hips while Celestino hovered at the door. “I’ve got it, I _know_ I do. I’ve figured it – something – out, and I want to try.”

Celestino eyebrows rose in a wave-like manner, before his face finally broke into an enthusiastic smile.

“Yes! Yes, Yuuri, this enthusiasm just is what I’m talking about! Excellent! Let me get my skates, hmm? I’ll be back in just a moment!” Celestino beamed, dropping the clipboard he had taken to toting around and darting for the black gym bag he kept in a locked drawer under the receptionist’s desk.

Yuuri moved back to the ice, balancing his guards on the wooden boards and taking the time to punch out a handful of fast, strong passes down the length of the ice. There was buzz under his skin, a restless energy that was waiting to break out. It was similar to the feeling that had been crawling under his spine at the Netherlands Junior finals, and Yuuri was squirming with it. _Anticipation_.

Celestino returned in his sturdy tan-brown skates, and crossed over to where the rig was hanging limp in the centre of the wire.

“Here-” Celestino didn’t get the chance to finish, before Yuuri was already before him and slipping his arm through the first padded strap. Celestino cut himself off and shook his head wryly, moving about Yuuri to help him fasten the worst of the straps, and then moving away to take up the support line in a firm grip. “Are you still warm?”

“Yes,” Yuuri said firmly, already moving further down the line and feeling his thoughts focus intently.

“When you’re ready, then,” Celestino said, following him and holding the line carefully away, ready to catch at the slightest hint of a fall.

Yuuri closed his eyes, listened to the sound of Celestino breathing beside him, to the soft clink of the metal rig above him. _Support. Determination. Confidence, not from myself, but from others around me._

The motions were familiar, he’d done them dozens of times, his body _knew_ what to do. There was   no hesitation. The lead-in was heavy, the toe pick was hard, the push was strong, the turn was fast, the turn, the turn, _the turn_ -

 _Clack_.

Yuuri’s breath punched from his lungs. But it wasn’t from the rig. It wasn’t from Celestino, catching him against the fall. It wasn’t because he’d failed.

Yuuri coasted a handful of metres more, arms raised, free leg poised, knee _shuddering_ from the landing.

Oh.

_Oh._

“ _Yes!_ ” Celestino shouted heartily, dropping the support line entirely as he raised both arms and pumped his fists victoriously, before skating over to throw an arm around Yuuri and shake him enthusiastically, happily, excitedly. “Well done, Yuuri! _Well done!_ I never doubted that you could do it, that was fantastic! Ah, and in less than a month, too! Yuuri-ino, that was incredible, I am so _proud!_ ”

A part of Yuuri felt stunned. Like everything had happened at once, and it hadn’t processed, and _was this really happening?_

But the rest of him felt a deep, soul-gutting contentedness that was warm and safe and happy. Of course this was happening. Of course he had done it. The people around him, supporting him, they had never doubted that he was capable for a second.

In the end, Yuuri could only gasp out a smile through the waning energy of the morning, before carefully winding an arm through the lines of the rig to return Celestino’s embrace gingerly.

“Thank you, coach,” Yuuri spoke with gentle, full feeling into the shoulder of Celestino’s jacket, before drawing back to skate a handful of steps away and collect himself, pressing cold hands against the proud heat of his cheeks.  

He’d done it. He’d landed his first quad, the first in what he hoped would be a long line of quads, that would take him to new heights and show him new forms of self-expression beyond what he would have dreamed possible only a year ago. And Celestino was going to be there for him, supporting him every step of the way.

Yuuri gathered that feeling, and held onto it with everything he had. He was going to need it.

 

* * *

 [Thursday]

[June 17, 2010]

[6:17pm]

 

The video started with a shaky hold and a burst of sound, before a familiar voice broke over the speakers in a soft rush.

“ _Ah – hold it steady! And, um, make sure you move around, so she can see me?”_

 _“Relax,_ topolino _, I know how to work a camera._ ”

Minako smiled as the pixelated Yuuri on her computer screen gave the camera a sheepish look, blushing just a little and nervously rubbing the back of his neck.

“ _I know that you – I shouldn’t – ah. Sorry!”_ Yuuri finally managed, laughing with the holder of the camera as the image shook with the movements of the male, accented voice. His eyes were bright as they flickered between the lens, and the person behind it.

“ _Don’t worry, Yuuri! Do you want to get started?_ ” the voice asked again, and Yuuri immediately straightened, his playful face turning serious as he gathered himself for the coming performance.

“ _Okay. Okay!”_  Yuuri said, before gliding back onto the ice and settling himself in the middle of the spacious rink. “ _Can you see me?”_ he called, and Minako almost couldn’t hear him over the breathing and rustling of the camera man, and the cold scrape of the two other skaters she could see moving about the edge of the rink.

A hand came out from behind the phone camera, revealing a pale hand curled into a thumbs up. Yuuri nodded, before shifting himself into a position that had one arm wrapped about the front of his waist, the other tucked behind him, and his head bowed in contemplation.

“ _Tre!”_ the cameraman called, his voice loud enough that the speakers crackled. “ _Due!”_ And when the voice cried “ _Uno_ ”, the camera shook as the hand moved to click an off-screen button.

The opening piano strikes edged in gently, a pattern slowly gathering itself together, and Yuuri began to move as well. He crept about the centre of the rink, arms moving gracefully with the swell of the opening, and then the music deepened, and his path suddenly opened to the wide reaches of the ice, his head raising high and his arms sweeping wide, the music growing heavier and heavier around him.

The camera followed, a little shaky, with the smudge of a stray finger briefly darkening one corner of the screen before the cameraman quickly adjusted his hold.

Yuuri was holding back his jumps, marking them with a kick of his pick or an easy single turn where he might have posted a double, triple, or combination. The spins he kept in place, but they were slower than they might normally be, and his lines weren’t as severe as they would have been in competition. Minako recognised and quietly chastised a handful of slip ups she wouldn’t have noticed ten years ago, when ice skating had been a stranger’s sport to her decades of ballet. But she let the small jumps and tiny errors stand for now; the purpose of this video wasn’t to showcase Yuuri’s technical ability.

The purpose of this video was to share Yuuri’s choreography, the words and emotions he had poured into his free program, for the very first time.

Minako had seen snippets of Yuuri’s short program that he had tentatively pieced together before he left. More importantly, she had already heard the music and had known the message Yuuri wanted to convey. She had sent him email after email with links to YouTube videos, forum threads, pictures, routines, _ideas_ for him to use. Knowing what Yuuri wanted to do meant that she had been able to help him craft the frame of his program.

But Yuuri hadn’t known his free program song, or style, or message before he had left. Minako hadn’t been able to help him there. Yuuri had started this on his own, crafting this fledgling routine alone for the very first time.

Minako was sitting forward on the edge of her seat, holding her breath as she watched.

It was simple, but strong. The movements were deliberate and bold, with a mournful but determined edge that kept and held her attention as Yuuri moved across the ice. There was a sense of strength and confidence as he moved, he was the centre of attention, and when he moved close, Minako could see that his face was set with an intensity that complemented the routine well, giving it a deeper meaning.

The music hesitated into a deep lull and Yuuri did too, stepping out of a spin into a cautious glide, and then beginning a growing pass that drew his arms up into the next jump with the gentle crash of a drum. Another slow glide, and then the piano grew complex, and Yuuri’s feet slipped into flashing steps that carried him quickly, complexly, from one edge of the room to the other-

 _Oops_. Minako covered her smile with a hand as she caught a hesitation in one his steps, the flash of surprise on his face as he quickly pulled himself back to balance for the next crescendo of movement, the next jump, the next spin.

It was a long piece, and Minako was glad for Yuuri’s sake that he had chosen to ease back on the technical elements. As it was, Minako could see the lights of the _Arena_ glinting off Yuuri’s forehead, and could see his chest heaving with exertion as he fell out of his finishing pose – arms and hands splayed to the audience, as if to embrace them all at once – to move tiredly towards the cameraman.

“ _How was it?”_ Yuuri asked between breaths once he’d approached, eyes focused beyond the camera, but bright with emotion and anticipation.

“ _Beautiful,_ topolino _.”_

 Yuuri blushed madly, but smiled all the same, and Minako marvelled that her shy, humble student was able to take the bold compliment so well, when such a comment from her or Nishigori would have had him stammering and denying every good thing he had ever done.

“ _Thank you, Christophe,_ ” Yuuri finally said, with a fond, thankful look that had Minako smiling before a shock ran down her spine at the realisation that _the_ _cameraman was Christophe Giacometti-!_

“ _Here – I’ll just-”_ The video stopped without warning, the frame frozen on the image of Yuuri standing against the ice with a red face, an open smile, and a look of pride that made Minako’s throat warm and heavy.

Yuuri was happy.

Sniffing quickly, Minako shifted in her seat and collected herself, before pulling a notebook closer and dragging the video back to the start for a closer look. This was Yuuri’s first attempt at choreographing his entire program by himself, and it showed in the handful of lulls and peaks, in the patchwork pacing and the uncertainty of the finale. It was a work of art, of course, but it could be _so_ much more, and nothing would make her happier than to help her favourite student perfect something he had poured his heart into.

Scribbling her opening comments, Minako’s eyes picked through the routine, and the shadows of the evening slowly deepened around her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> =


	7. Introductions [Part 6]

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As a summary of what's happened so far: 
> 
> Yuuri and Christophe hit it off when they meet in Detroit to train under Celestino. At first, Celestino misunderstands Yuuri's inconsistent performance as anxiety, and gives him misinformed advice to achieving his goals. However, Christophe notices that Yuuri performs best when expressing emotion and discussion, and helps Celestino understand that Yuuri is an emotive skater first, and anxious second. Meanwhile, Christophe is also eager to introduce Yuuri to his friends in Detroit, and takes Yuuri out to a small college party which Yuuri surprisingly enjoys. 
> 
> Yuuri's skating progresses to the stage where Celestino believes that Yuuri is ready to try the quad toe loop, and Yuuri is faced with the problem of discovering which emotion will fuel this new jump. Celestino's newfound attention and joy with Yuuri's ability is noticed by Celestino's oldest skater, Esteban, who watches Yuuri bitterly as he receives more and more of their coach's attention. 
> 
> The Grand Prix assignments are released, revealing that Yuuri will be skating with Esteban at one competition, and Christophe at another. Celestino has a Talk with Yuuri about the upcoming season, guiding Yuuri through sudden anxiety that he might not be able to juggle his many commitments in the coming season. This display of unconditional support gives Yuuri the foundation he needs to land an on-rig quad toe loop for the first time.

[Saturday]

[June 26, 2010]

[2:23pm]

 

Esteban stood at a bare scrap of board, elbows braced back against the pitted wood as he soaked in the chaos of the Saturday rink.

It was nothing like the quiet intensity of Celestino’s lessons, or the cold emptiness of solitary practice. In the afternoons when the ice was open to the public, Esteban’s long-familiar rink blossomed into movement and sound, into free laughter and childish movements. Newcomers, novices, hockey players, adolescents, young adults, old masters; it was never the same. It was easier for Esteban to lose himself here, to break through the pattern of haphazard skaters and bask in the awe of his ever-changing audience as they took note of his skill, and drew back to admire from safe corners of the ice.

He couldn’t practice anything significant here, nothing more impressive than a double-combo or a scrap of his choreographic sequence. There were too many unpredictable skaters that might lurch into his path and send both of them tumbling. But he found a deep sense of inspiration in the way the youngest skaters looked at him, like he was seeing a memory of himself echoed in their eyes, and it reminded him every week _why_ he had chosen the path he-

“Wha’cha thinking about?”

Esteban blinked down to see Theresa standing at his shoulder, her eyes laughing as she posed in her favoured bubblegum-pink leggings.

“Nothing important,” Esteban shrugged dismissively, turning so that he was better facing Celestino’s youngest student. “We didn’t get the chance to speak on Tuesday. How have you been, _Maite?_ ”

“Ugh, tired,” Theresa didn’t slump – Celestino had been drilling posture into her since her first group class with him seven years ago – but she did look suspiciously limp as she turned neatly and mimicked Esteban’s lean against the boards. “Now that the main club’s show is over, he’s been pushing me hard for Skate Detroit – him, _and_ Karen. She’s had me in the studio more than she’s had me on the ice, not even counting the time left over to spend with Celi.”

“Mmm,” Esteban hummed thoughtfully. “Balancing two coaches can be difficult, especially if they work at different rinks. I hope you aren’t pushing yourself too hard?”

“Pfft,” Theresa waved a hand in his direction, and Esteban could see the hint of an eye roll in the way her head fell back. “I’m _fine_ , it’s summer anyway, it’s not like I’ve got anything better to do.”

Esteban smiled fondly. Theresa was _so_ much like his youngest sister that it ached sometimes.

“But, while we’re at it,” Theresa continued as she looked accusingly up at Esteban. “I haven’t seen _you_ around. Why didn’t you come with us on Thursday to get measured for your costumes and stuff?”

Esteban stiffened subtly.

“Well?”

“I – I hired my own costumer this year, _Maite_ ,” Esteban revealed with slow reluctance. He turned his eyes away, unfocused over the crowd as he spoke. The silence from beside him prompted, “choreographer, too. And physiotherapist.”

“So – wait. What’s left for Celi to do, then? Just – coach? Watch your form, keep you in shape, that’s – that’s _it_?”

Esteban nodded shortly.

The sound that Theresa made then was almost mocking, almost pained.

“But then why stay at all? Why keep Celestino as a coach _at all_ if you’re just – using other people for everything else?”

“I didn’t want-” Esteban spoke quickly, violently, before falling back and running a hand through his thick hair. “ _Maite,_ I’m twenty-three. I’m too old to find a new coach, not – when my career is almost over. I can’t afford to take any risks, with coaching at least. I just needed to find the best for everything else, is all.”

“And what happens if you _do_ find someone better, huh?” Theresa shot back just as passionately. A trio of girls passed, their fingers linked as they giggled and faded into the general noise of the rink. Esteban finally turned to look down at Theresa, to see that her face wasn’t fierce or angry like he had imagined – but stubborn, and sad. “I don’t want you to go.”

Esteban paused in his response, quiet, thinking.

“Unless,” Theresa’s voice finally softened, too young to stay so serious for so long. “There’s someone else keeping you here?”

“Like who?” Esteban snorted dismissively.

“ _You know_ who I’m talking about.”

“I really don-” Esteban’s fingers tightened over the boards, and he stared at her, too young to be so knowledgeable. “You knew about that?”

“You thought I didn’t?” Theresa shot back in the practised back-and-forth they’d built over the years, from the beginning where Esteban would assist in Celestino’s group sessions, and lead the tiny skater through her steps.

“If I was worried about _him_ ,” Esteban said after an uncomfortable silence. “If I was staying because of … no, _Maite_. That is a mistake I will not make again. Not when it could cost me my career.”

“It wouldn’t cost you your _career_ ,” Theresa scoffed, and Esteban paused again, tightened his hands again, because-

“Don’t,” he said softly, sternly. “Don’t make the same mistakes, Theresa. You’re young, with all of your career ahead of you. Don’t make the mistakes that I did.”

 

* * *

 [Sunday]

[July 4, 2010]

[6:49pm]

 

Yuuri stood ankle deep the uncut grass of Cameron’s lawn, eyes wide and unblinking.

He’d been here before. He’d seen this house, back when Christophe had brought him here to meet a dozen young adults in a sparse room, when Christophe had said there would be a _party_ and that Yuuri should join him, when Yuuri had found himself surprised by how small, and friendly, and comfortable it had been.

But this.

 _This_ was what he had once had in mind when he thought of an American party.

There were cars, and people, and cars _with_ people, _everywhere_. There was music playing, a fast, deep bass split with laugher and whooping and voices.

It wasn’t even sunset yet.

There were bottles strewn about the door, an otherwise empty bucket of ice by the letterbox, there was someone slumped on the front steps, and _it wasn’t even sunset yet_.

“So, Yuuri, before we go in,” Christophe curled his arm around Yuuri, a display of comradery and support that did nothing to ease the clench in Yuuri’s stomach. “I want you to have fun tonight, hmm? But not, uh, _too_ much fun, so – try not to eat anything that didn’t come out of a box, or straight from the barbeque. _Especially_ if the person offering it to you is wearing a beanie, _capisci?_ ”

“A bean – I – _what_?” Yuuri’s eyes didn’t leave the house. He was sure he had heard that word – beanie – before _– beanie? –_ but the scene before him, Christophe’s new warning, and Yuuri’s own anxiety had effectively stalled his ability to translate.

“Oh! Beanie, a hat. It’s a floppy hat, like – like a sock on your head. Anywho-” Christophe waved the word away, and the arm around Yuuri’s back began to push gently. Yuuri stumbled into reluctant motion, moving towards the mass of hidden sound and movement. “My _point_ was, try to avoid anything suspicious. In particular _,_ try to avoid Michael – he would be, hmm, my height? Dark blond hair, grey eyes, wearing a beanie – avoid him, unless you want Celestino to kill me.”

Christophe spoke easily as he guided Yuuri into the house, down the familiar hallway that didn’t look nearly as empty and depressingly student as it had the month before. There were other young men and women – Yuuri’s age, Christophe’s age, and even some a little older – pressed against the walls in mismatched groups, talking, laughing. The music was loud, pressing against Yuuri’s ears from every direction, the bass throbbing in his lungs, his stomach, his fingertips.  

“Now, first – a drink!” Christophe said cheerfully, his arm slipping down to take Yuuri’s wrist in a warm, dry grip and pull him in the direction of the kitchen, weaving and ducking through the press of strangers. Amongst the absolute chaos of bottles, bowls, and empty packaging, there was barely enough room left on the kitchen bench to balance a cup. In spite of this, Christophe expertly inserted himself into the madness, and Yuuri quickly found himself cradling a plastic cup of strawberry lemonade and vodka – “ _We’ll start you with something familiar,_ si _?_ ” – as he watched Christophe throw together his own drink.

“Let me know if you want to try anything new later on, okay?” Christophe grinned at Yuuri, raising his voice to be heard over some riot of noise that had erupted from the joining lounge. A trio of tall young men stumbled over each other into the kitchen, laughing and knocking each other’s shoulders, and Yuuri hesitantly cringed back until he was tucked just a little behind Christophe’s shoulder. “If you like cola, I could try you on a rum-and-coke? Ooh, or maybe some moscato – my old rinkmate used to call it the _gateway wine_ when he bought it for us, you’ll _love_ it if you have a sweet tooth.”

Christophe had finished making whatever concoction he had been working on, and was now gesturing to the back door – a back door that Yuuri was amused to see had been propped open by an empty milk jug filled with dirty water, and marked _DO NOT DRINK _in clumsy letters. “Are you coming?”

“Mm,” Yuuri nodded happily, taking a generous sip of his drink and following with barely a blink of his eye. It was warm outside, lazily hot with the new and uncomfortable heat of Detroit’s summer, but not yet stifling like the humidity back home might have been. The tepid air settled around Yuuri as he followed Christophe through the thin crowd of the backyard, past a cheap and well-manned barbeque, a long plastic table of cups and generously messy spills, a square of empty grass where Cameron and an unnamed roommate crouched over a mismatched pile of July fireworks.

Over the music spilling from the house and the chatter of several-dozen party goers, Yuuri could barely hear the shrill sound of a nearby house releasing their own fireworks, could barely see the weak sparks of coloured light in the evening sky and then Christophe was pulling him away, moving closer to a group that he greeted with a happy cry, and a generous kiss to one laughing girl’s cheek. Yuuri sipped his drink, smiled, and waved hesitantly to the crowd of new faces. He had barely been introduced before he was being pulled again to another group of strangers, and then another – and Yuuri slowly fell into the rhythm of Christophe’s night.

The atmosphere reminded Yuuri of the local _matsuri_ festivals his parents had taken him and Mari to on occasion, before he grew old enough to go alone with Yuuko and Takeshi. There was loud, bright movement all around him, with pressing sound and the heavy smell of food and drink and _people_.

“-and you remember Thomas, right? Yuuri? _Yuuri?_ ”

Yuuri blinked back into the conversation, nursing the last of his sugar-sweet drink and turning to the familiar face Christophe was gesturing to.

“Uh-” Yuuri took in the tall frame, the short hair, the warm eyes, “-yeah, you’re – um, from last time, right? You’re studying … engineering, I think?”

“That’s me,” Thomas nodded with an acknowledging tilt of the beer bottle he cradled in one loose hand. “S’good to see you again, Yuuri from Japan who’s taking dance.”

Christophe turned to grin at Yuuri, with a teasing and gleeful edge to his smile that Yuuri paused to see, unsure why it was there.

“See, _topolino_ , he remembers you,” Christophe said with a strangely playful tone, before he turned back to Thomas with a proud, “Yuuri’s going to be competing in the Grand Prix of ice skating this year – did I tell you Yuuri was a skater?” Christophe distracted himself mid-sentence with an absent frown as he twirled the brown-black dregs of his drink thoughtfully. “Ah, probably – but, you know – you know, Yuuri is going to be _amazing_. He’s one of the best ice skaters in the world-”

“Christophe!” Yuuri protested, his face blooming a hot red at the unexpected and undeserved praise, and he went to cut Christophe off before he could continue – but then he realised that Thomas was laughing in a deep tone that, if Yuuri paused to think about it, was actually sort of nice. The flush on Yuuri’s face grew stronger.

“You are!” Christophe insisted, and now that he was looking his way, Yuuri could see the that Christophe’s cheeks were flushing as well, that he was grinning in an almost silly manner at everything about them – and that his drink was empty, for the third time that night. “Yuuri came first in Junior Worlds earlier this year,” Christophe continued relentlessly. Yuuri couldn’t hold back a self-deprecating scoff. As if _Junior Worlds_ was a great accomplishment, when-

“ _Christophe_ was at the Winter Olympics a few months ago,” Yuuri retorted, feeling a warmth in his throat that had him uncharacteristically bold, and meeting Thomas’ eyes across Christophe’s profile. “He came fourth in the men’s singles, he – he’s _much_ better than I am, and-”

“No, no, _Yuuri_ ,” Christophe cut across him again, setting aside his cup and taking Yuuri’s shoulder under his arm, levelling a _look_ of sloppy seriousness. The fierce attention was startling, and Yuuri raised his own drink to take another sip, to find that there were barely a few drops left- “Yuuri, you’re not allowed to talk yourself down. Your – your step sequences are _stunning_. Thomas, you need to see them – he looks like he’s flying, it’s incredible-”

“But your jumps!” Yuuri had never blushed so hard in his life. His face was hot and dizzy, as if he had just finished a round of spins under Celestino’s tight regime. And he felt absolutely _insistent_ that he would get his point across – that it was Christophe, not he, who was the better skater between them. “Your jumps are – are – they’re big, and long, and you can do a quad _Salchow-_ ”

“Almost, Yuuri, I can _almost_ do a quad Salchow,” Christophe insisted. His weight on Yuuri’s shoulder was a little heavy, as if he were balancing against Yuuri for support. “Celestino isn’t – won’t let me add it to my roster yet. But, Yuuri, _topolino_ , stop interrupting me, I’m trying-” Christophe paused, to look back at where Thomas was watching them both with slightly uncertain amusement. “-I’m trying to help!”

“Help with what?” Yuuri asked helplessly, but his question went unanswered, because-

Yuuri flinched with a deep gasp as the dark backyard suddenly erupted into a deep, explosive sound that deafened all conversation, into bright, _bright_ colour that blinded the milling young adults in red and green streaks that spread in every direction, close and vibrant, and casting everything in a halo of stark colour.

The thunder from the first salvo of fireworks died, to be replaced by hollering, hooting, cheering, and laughing that rose from the backyard. Hands bearing cups and bottles rose into the air, to bask in the light of the next explosion as it burst too close – _too close_ – to the backyard, and seemed to swallow the sky whole.

“ _Whoo!_ ” Christophe’s voice rose among the chaos of sound, as he shouted and laughed and tilted his head back to take in the flashing colours. To his surprise, Yuuri found that he was laughing too, but he could barely hear himself over the noise around him.

The atmosphere was overpowering. There were more and more people from the inside of the house pouring through the doors, crowding around to watch and cheer with each explosion, and Yuuri found himself pressed up close to Christophe and Thomas, shifting when they shifted, laughing when they laughed.

Christophe turned, his mouth forming words that Yuuri couldn’t make out over the shrieking fizz of a white-yellow spark fountain in the far corner of the yard.

“ _What?_ ” Yuuri shouted hoarsely. The only proof he had that he was speaking at all were the vibrations of his chest, the way his throat was aching a little at his attempt.

“I said!” Christophe was leaning in now, his breath hot against Yuuri’s ear as he absolutely shouted to be heard. “Do you want! Another drink!”

Everything was warm, and loud, and close. The sky was breaking apart above him. Thomas had at some point vanished from Christophe’s side, slipping into the throng of the crowd without Yuuri noticing.

Everything was loose, and soft, and fun. Yuuri’s chest was shaking from a massive bass speaker that had been brought out to perch on the cold barbeque. His drink was empty.

“ _Yes!_ ” Yuuri’s throat was splitting from the abuse, but Christophe must have heard him, because he was grinning as he took Yuuri’s hand again, dragging him through the crowd and letting bursts of electric technicolour light their way.

Together they slipped into the heat of the house, into the stunningly still kitchen that echoed with the sound of the backyard through an open window.

“Here!” Christophe’s voice was a mild shout, and he didn’t let Yuuri see the label of the fresh bottle he’d unearthed – just poured out a splash of clear liquid, held the cup out, and grinned. “ _Salute,_ Yuuri!”

Red light flashed across the scene, a deep blush of colour. Yuuri was chasing that warmth, chasing the sound and the light, chasing the looseness in his chest and limbs – so he took the cup, took a breath, and swallowed the sharp drink back without a scrap of hesitation.

Laughing in satisfaction, Christophe lifted the bottle to his lips, took a long, long swig, and then offered it to Yuuri when he’d finished.

“Another one?” Christophe’s voice rose over the noise of the outdoors.

Heat bloomed in Yuuri’s stomach.

 

* * *

[Monday]

[July 5, 2010]

[10:12am]

 

Celestino eyed his skaters suspiciously. Something was off. Something was _very_ off.

Esteban was as ruthless as ever, of course. Determination shone in every move he made, and Celestino was already preparing his talk-down to convince Esteban off the ice when his knees inevitably started buckling from the strength of his enthusiasm.

Yuuri was quiet – but that was nothing unusual, as Celestino had come to understand that he was naturally shy and became intensely focused on his own routine once he truly got into the motions. Granted, he wasn’t as active as he might usually be, and his step sequences lacked their usual flair – but for the time being, Celestino was happy to leave Yuuri to himself, to approach their morning practice at his own pace.

Because, since the moment he had walked through the door, Celestino’s eyes can been fixed on Christophe. Something was very, _very_ off, and Celestino was beginning to suspect he knew exactly what it was.

It hadn’t been obvious at first. Christophe had arrived in a messed rush – together with Yuuri, as he usually was these days, with their bags slung over their shoulders and their t-shirts rucked up a little from where they had probably hurried to slip them on. Yuuri had bent Christophe into his stretches, and Christophe had returned the favour – albeit, with a little more restraint than he usually showed, and with a lot less noise and suggestive laughter.

But then he had taken to the ice.

Christophe had popped every triple Salchow he’d tried that day.

He had tried to shake his mistakes off, with a quiet laugh about late nights and it being too early for any of this – but Celestino’s eyes had narrowed nonetheless, and it was Christophe’s hunched form that he observed for a further ten excruciating minutes before he finally couldn’t take it anymore.

“Christophe.” Celestino’s voice cut across the room, sharper than any skating blade. “A word.”

Celestino could hear the groan from the edge of the rink. Christophe approached slowly, reluctant and clumsy like he rarely was. Celestino’s suspicions grew as Christophe’s pale-washed expression came into focus.

Finally, when Celestino could see that the deep black smudges under Christophe’s eyes were accompanied by some of the worst bloodshot he’d ever seen, he knew.

“ _I thought so_ ,” Celestino spoke in crisp Italian, and folded his arms over the wood of the barrier as he surveyed Christophe with a distinct air of disappointment.

“ _What?_ ” Hell, even his voice sounded hungover.

“ _I’ve told you before, I won’t have hungover skaters in my rink, Christophe,_ ” Celestino watched with deep gratification as Christophe’s face flushed with embarrassment. It was one of the earlier rules he’d set – one he hadn’t known he would _have_ to set, until Christophe had joined him – and it was a rule he had since enforced for a very good reason. “ _You’ll crack your head open at this rate. Get out – and drink some water, for God’s sake. You look like you’re about to collapse. How much did you drink last night, huh?”_

Christophe’s eyes closed, a hand raising to rub at the arch of his nose tiredly. He mumbled softly, quiet enough that Celestino couldn’t hear – but it didn’t matter, really. Celestino already knew the answer.

“ _Too much, I’m guessing? Look – I’ll let you off with a warning this time, but if you show up hungover again, you’ll be outside running intervals for an hour, you hear me?_ ” If Celestino were being honest, Christophe should have been running intervals right then and there – but Christophe’s behaviour had been unusually tame over the last few weeks. Celestino was feeling charitable.

“ _God, please, I don’t – even wanna think about it,_ ” Christophe moaned, his eyes finally opening. Celestino felt a curl of satisfaction in his stomach – maybe this time, he’d broken through to him- “ _My head is killing me, I don’t know how Yuuri’s doing it.”_

What.

“… _Yuuri?”_ Celestino’s voice was blissfully confused, and Christophe grimaced. Celestino turned to the far side of the rink, where Yuuri – quiet Yuuri, shy Yuuri, leave-him-to-his-own-devices Yuuri – was avoiding any of the heavy spins or jumps Celestino had assigned him, to instead idly twist through shaky figures that Celestino could have arranged when he was ten.

_Oh._

Celestino turned back, a furious frown on his face-

To see Christophe skating for the gate closest to the entranceway, the fastest he’d skated all morning.

“ _I’m gonna go and sleep it off, coach! Drink, water – right. I’ll see you tomorrow!”_ Christophe called over his shoulder, stumbling to remove his skates before Celestino could cut a word in edgeways. Celestino watched him go, resigned, before he rubbed at the bridge of his own Roman nose tiredly.

Then, in brash English, he called across the rink.

“Yuuri! A _word!_ ”

 

* * *

[Monday]

[July 12, 2010]

[7:14pm]

 

Esteban could hear the rapid strokes of Japanese well before he could see them.

The kitchen – _his_ kitchen – his _unfamiliar_ kitchen, with a second-hand rice cooker on the counter, a hand-written cookbook of Italian and French recipes on the windowsill, a dozen Tupperware boxes of unnamed foods stacked in the fridge – was a blur. The wooden table, hidden under a heap of clothes and gym bags that weren’t his, the wall calendar marked with dates and reminders that weren’t for him, the messy row of shoes by the front door that didn’t fit him _–_ it all began to smudge together, striking Esteban with the same sense of _wrong_ that had plagued him for weeks on end.

Japanese melted into quiet laughter, echoing a female, speaker-distorted voice. Esteban tightened his grip on the bag in his hand.

Walking through the hallway, he couldn’t help but glance through to the living room where the sound was coming from.

The lamps were lit, the muted television casting flickering light over Yuuri’s profile as he grinned into his laptop with a blue-lit face. Christophe was leaning in behind him, animated like he had been ever since _Yuuri_ had arrived.

It was like looking into another world. The lounge – _his_ lounge – his _unfamiliar_ lounge, with a stranger sitting where Esteban should be sitting, the undeniable sense that he just wasn’t welcome here anymore, Christophe’s energy focussed on someone Esteban just couldn’t understand – was a blur.

The staircase was unchanged, at least. Bare, with scuff-marks and dents and that persistent wooden creak that had been there longer than even Esteban had.

The door to Christophe’s – _and Yuuri’s_ – room was open. It was messy, in the way that a lived-in room was always messy, with clothes and books and charging cables strewn about in the comfort of familiarity.

Across the hall, Esteban’s own room was dark. The curtains were drawn, the bed a tangle of grey sheets, the desk hidden under a stack of now-useless papers from a communications degree he had finished in a haze of mediocrity. He had always been too focussed on his skating to truly excel academically.

The door closed behind Esteban, the moment stretching uncomfortably, and the dimensions of the room felt wrong-

Esteban swung his arm with a clench of violent anger, and his bag cracked against the wall with a loud, deep, and utterly satisfying smack echoed by a bitter,

“ _Fuck!_ ”

The effort and sound and satisfaction of it all was a release, but it wasn’t _enough._ Esteban was tempted to pick his bag up, return to his door, and throw it across the room all over again – but instead only clenched his fingernails tight against his palms, slumping against the wall and curling down into a sprawl against the floor.

“Fuck,” Esteban muttered again with every scrap of resentment he had. He closed his eyes, letting the back of his head fall against the wall behind him. He could still hear them, talking from the lounge below, evidently undisturbed by the sound of his own dissatisfaction. Esteban sat, still and quiet, clenching his eyes.

“… _fuck._ ”

 

* * *

[Thursday]

[July 15, 2010]

[9:13pm]

 

07-15-2010, 04:05 PM                                                            #67

viksGurl94                       omg you guys!! im so so so excited  
Just A Fan                        for the upcoming season!!!  
**                                    TASS says vikki is back training  
                                       full time *already* aaaaaaaa  
                                       he’s so commited … hes gonna  
                                       win gold for sure this year!!

 

07-15-2010, 04:09 PM                                                            #68

ice0N_ice0FF                    He only came second in the GPF  
Veteran Poster                 last year because the judges have  
*****                                a hardon for Moreau. F24 already  
                                        confirmed that Moreau is out this  
                                        season with a knee injury – I think  
                                        he’s got a really good chance!

 

07-15-2010, 04:10 PM                                                            #69

sk8allday4life                 It’ll be great to see Kosuke again  
obsessed                        this year, through!! I have tickets to  
***                                  Skate America, Im so excited to see  
                                       him in person again~!!

 

07-15-2010, 04:14 PM                                                            #70

ice_cutlet_bowl               Viktors going to be in skate america  
Skater                             too!! You’re so lucky, I want to see him  
****                                in real life!! My coach won’t give me  
                                      time off to go to SA =.=”

07-15-2010, 04:19 PM                                                             #71

sk8allday4life                 Dont worry, I’m gonna take a bunch  
obsessed                        of pictures and put them on my gallery  
***                                  afterwards. I’ll take extra ones of  
                                       Vikky just for you guys~!

 

“What are you smiling at, _topolino_?” Christophe asked as he stepped into their room, shirtless and ruffling his shower-wet hair with a towel. Yuuri glanced quickly up at him from where he was sitting cross-legged before his open laptop – the screen thankfully facing away from the doorway, concealing the distinctive forum webpage – and tried his best not to look immediately guilty.

“Noth – uh. Internet … jokes?” Yuuri corrected himself lamely, hunching in a little as he surreptitiously clicked away from the fan page and into a gallery of dog pictures he’d bookmarked in high school for this very purpose.

“Ahuh, I see,” Christophe smiled knowingly, tweaking his eyebrows in a suggestive way that had Yuuri flushing at the insinuation.

“I – no – not like _that_ , Christophe, I don’t-” Yuuri was stumbling over himself, his face growing warmer and warmer.

“ _Calmati_ , Yuuri, I’m only teasing,” Christophe grinned as he fished around in his uppermost drawer, pulling out a fuchsia-pink singlet that was unusually loose when he pulled it down over his torso. “But if you aren’t busy, how would you like to come out again tonight? A group of us are heading to _Bleu_ – the door is cheap, and the music is always good. Cameron is picking us up in fifteen.”

Yuuri cringed into himself just a little, a soft curl of his shoulders as he glanced between the computer screen of brown, curly-haired poodles, and his increasingly enthusiastic roommate.

“If you don’t have anything, you can borrow this – here-” Christophe was rummaging through another of his drawers, unearthing something neon-yellow and alarmingly sheer. “I think this would fit-”

“Actually – Christophe, I … think I’ll stay here tonight,” Yuuri cut in before Christophe could carry on any further. Christophe, still holding the shirt in one hand as he moved to shift through the drawer that held Yuuri’s jeans, did not pause.

“Are you sure, _topolino_? You haven’t come to town with us yet, you’ll love it! Their mixers are to die for, and I know you would like to see the others again,” Christophe was a force of enthusiastic energy that Yuuri was tempted – _so_ tempted – to give in to. But-

_Look, I expected this from Christophe. But you? Yuuri … I expected better from you._

The sucker-punch of shame hit Yuuri all over again, his stomach turning viciously on the memory of the _look_ Celestino had given him.

Yuuri had never earned such a look from one of his coaches before. He had always been the _good_ student. He had always toed the line, always kept to the rules. He had never gone out for a night of drinking and partying before, and had never tried to work through a morning of on-ice practice besides that.

It was a new feeling for Yuuri, knowing that someone was disappointed in him. He hated it.

“No, I’m … I’m staying here tonight, Christophe,” Yuuri repeated, shuffling awkwardly. As much as he would have hated to disappoint Celestino, he hated disappointing his friend even more.

“Mm. Well, if you are sure,” Christophe shrugged. The shirt was returned to his drawer – the drawer left open in what Yuuri knew was a characteristic display of untidiness – and Christophe was quick to lean into his mirror, picking at a spot that had emerged under a cheekbone and frowning when he carded fingers through bleached hair to reveal dirty-blond regrowth underneath. “Ugh, I need to do my roots again, soon.”

The tension in Yuuri’s shoulders faded in increments. Christophe wasn’t mad, or upset that Yuuri wasn’t going. He wasn’t pushing him, demanding he come anyway-

Yuuri frowned. He _wasn’t_ pushing – Christophe, who had pushed and pulled Yuuri with gentle persuasion into late night parties and adult-themed movies and taking shots in a kitchen lit with fireworks and sparklers.

Yuuri wasn’t sure if he should be relieved or … disappointed.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Yuuri,” Christophe threw the words over his shoulder as he dug a jacket from under his comforter, and unearthed a pair of branded sneakers. He tousled his hair back one last time, plucked his phone from its charger, and wriggled his wallet into a tight front pocket. Christophe gave Yuuri a blinding grin, before waving as he turned to make for the hallway. “ _Ciao,_ Yuuri!”

“ _Ciao_ ,” Yuuri responded after a pause that was just a beat too long. Christophe had already disappeared down the first bend in the stairs, and within moments, Yuuri could feel the bedroom wall shaking as the front door was opened and closed beneath him. The sound of a car horn washed through the open window, followed by indistinct voices, laughter, a car door closing, and then-

Silence.

Yuuri sat in a gentle heap, legs crossed, laptop humming and humming and waiting beneath his fingers.

 _-bing_.

Yuuri twitched as his phone chimed with a notification from the forum thread. Yuuri glanced at the email without turning his head, and deliberately re-opened the page he had hastily closed before.

 

07-15-2010, 04:34 PM                                                             #72

viksGurl94                        ;v; did you see vikkis photoshoot with  
Just a Fan                          nike a few weeks ago??? o m g  
**                                      i bought like five of those magaazines  
                                         when i saw the samples online. his quad  
                                         toe is so pretty~~~!!

 

Yuuri’s fingers softened into the keyboard, the catch in the back of his throat easing as the familiarity of the forum worked its magic.

 

07-15-2010, 04:37 PM                                                             #73

ice_cutlet_bowl                My best friend got me two copies of  
Skater                              that – one for my wall at home and   
****                                  one as a collection *^w^* I heard  
                                        he’s working on the quad lutz too –  
                                        I think Viktor could be the first to land  
                                        three quads in one program!!

 

There was a glass of water on Yuuri’s bedside table, and he reached for a long sip as he posted the response, and then opened a second tab from his bookmark folder. A male commentator’s voice began to speak in quick Russian, and Yuuri skipped the video ahead a half-minute or so, until the lilting, heavy notes of _Cinderella’s Waltz_ filled the silence of his and Christophe’s room in familiar waves.

 

* * *

[Friday]

[July 16, 2010]

[9:07am]

 

Yuuri was always slow to wake, especially in summer. The lazy heat of mid-morning would waft through his open window, alongside the distant sound of traffic, the heady smell of grass and ozone, and he would luxuriate in taking as long as humanely possible to rise from his bed.

Today was no different. Yuuri woke in parts, first stretching his legs beneath the thin summer sheet, and then his arms above his usual mess of pillows. He rolled to one side, then the other, then sighed into one arm as his consciousness expanded and sharpened against his will.

Awareness of the heat rushed in first, followed by the touch of sheets, the smell of Esteban’s morning coffee. A handful of obligations came to mind: an upcoming meeting with his advisor at university, a call with the Japanese Skating Federation, a morning run that Celestino had been trying to encourage. Each was acknowledged, and then dismissed in turn. Other thoughts came to mind, other sensations; the way his muscles ached lazily after yesterday’s training, the way his eyes burned a little from his late-night browsing, the way Christophe’s breathing hushed from across the room-

Yuuri froze with a terrifying thrill.

 _That didn’t sound like Christophe_.

Yuuri had slept in this room long enough to know what his roommate’s early-morning snores sounded like. And the sound from Christophe’s bed right now, that gently-pitched sigh and accompanying snuffle-

Yuuri turned slowly, with a thrill of electric horror in his spine that told him there was an intruder, that something was wrong, that he shouldn’t attract attention. When his head was finally facing Christophe’s bed, a move betrayed by nothing more than the soft sound of blankets, Yuuri peeked his eyes open.

 _That doesn’t_ look _like Christophe_.

There was a slender arm, pale and wearing a teal bracelet, hanging over the side of the misshapen bed. There were three – no, four tangled legs protruding from the clinging white sheet, and one of them had a sock hanging off that was patterned to look like the Swiss national flag-

_Oh._

_Oh, god_.

Throwing the covers back, sitting dead straight with a white-washed face and a twisted cringe in his eyes, Yuuri abandoned stealth in favour of _getting the hell out_.

 _Oh, god, oh, god, oh god_ -

There was seeing Christophe flirt, there was seeing him pose and smoulder at his friends, there was seeing him walk about the bedroom naked and fresh from the shower – and then there was _seeing him with a girl in his bed that he had just_ -

Yuuri stumbled on his blankets as they tangled around his ankle, and used the opportunity to grab for his phone while he pitched forward and barely managed to catch himself against the edge of his bed.

_Get out, get out, before they wake up-_

The floorboards creaked, and Yuuri bit the inside of his lip, quickening his tip-toe shuffle into a deep-footed rush, and then-

He closed the door behind him and tumbled forward to sit on the topmost stair with a mind that was still half stunned from its abrupt awakening. Yuuri’s feet were cold against the floor, the air was still and soundless in early-morning calm, and he was dressed only in a pair of plaid shorts with his phone tucked limply into one hand.

His mind was stalling, stalling – repeating just one thought-

_Christophe had sex in our bedroom._

Yuuri wasn’t sure how long he sat there in numb shock before Esteban’s bedroom door opened and the man himself emerged – fully dressed, with a backpack slung over one shoulder – to pause and frown when he found Yuuri sitting as he was.

“What-” Esteban began, and Yuuri didn’t turn, didn’t look at him, only said in a quiet monotone,

“ _Christophe_.”

The word hung for a moment in the air, before a derisive snort burst from Esteban’s throat.

“Good luck with that,” Esteban said with a thickly amused voice, his accent heavier than it usually was, before he pushed past Yuuri and jogged down the stairs with comfortable dismissal.

Yuuri watched him go, pained.

_Oh, god. Christophe had sex in-_

 

* * *

[10:11am]

 

“Come on, it’s not like the we sex _in_ the actual bedroom!” Christophe was protesting, and Yuuri was cringing, and Celestino was looking dangerously close to overhearing it all. Christophe followed behind Yuuri with a body that pleaded forgiveness, and Yuuri refused to look at him. “We only came up after we had sex on the-”

“No, _no_ , stop, god, I don’t want to _know_ , Christophe,” Yuuri said, his voice strangled, his face strangled, his mind strangled on the thought- “I don’t, don’t tell me, I don’t want to _know._ ”

Christophe laughed unashamedly, and Yuuri took the opportunity to slip off his sneakers and toe into one of his skates. They were to be skating intervals today, working at building speed and power into their transitions; there would be blessedly minimal opportunity for Christophe to talk, beg, or even gloat.

“It’s not like you heard us, anyway-”

“ _Nope_ ,” Yuuri said urgently, and his skates were only haphazardly tied, but he didn’t care – he was already out on the ice, powering towards the far side, and Christophe’s laughing protests were drowned in the massiveness of the arena.

Yuuri had never enjoyed one of Celestino’s routine-less lessons so completely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all - this break between updates was larger than I ever intended, and I am extremely sorry about that. I took on another TA position for the July-November semester, and alongside my existing part-time work, some intense family dramas, my actual full-time studies, and a deep bout of writer's doubt, I sat on this chapter for far too long. I'm not sure how long it will take to write the next chapter, but hopefully my beta can kick my ass into gear and help get me back on the right track. 
> 
> Secondly - to add insult to injury, this chapter is actually bit shorter than usual! I ended up cutting two scenes from the end of it, since they didn't match the feel of the rest of the chapter. This should hopefully mean that I won't take nearly as long to post chapter eight (fingers crossed!). 
> 
> Thirdly - thank you. Thank you so, so much for all of the comments and kudos you've given over the last six months. I haven't replied to any of them - after leaving it for so long, I felt it would be empty to respond to a comment without also having a chapter to back it up. I'll be making an effort to respond more after this update <3 
> 
> Fourthly - if I'm being a little shit and not responding to comments, the best way to talk to me would be on [tumblr](http://red-twice.tumblr.com). I'd like to take this opportunity to thank the sender of the ask from early December - your gentle question was an excellent catalyst in helping me finish this chapter :) 
> 
> Fifthly - finally, as a corollary of my six-month-long writer's doubt, I've come to be unsatisfied (again) with the title of this story. I am ... actually extremely bad at naming stories. Any suggestions or advice would be deeply appreciated =.= 
> 
> And, for now, that should be it! Thank you very, very much for reading, and I would greatly appreciate any comments or kudos you can offer <3 <3 <3


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